


That Which Remains (when words fade)

by gammadolphin



Series: from the same star [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mirror Universe, Natural Disasters, Series of Connected Oneshots, Shower Sex, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gammadolphin/pseuds/gammadolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing lasts forever. Except for the things that do.</p><p>or</p><p>Five times Jim's words fade from Bones' skin and one time Bones' fade from Jim's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Polaris

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am apparently incapable of leaving this series alone, here's part 3. It's basically going to be a series of oneshots, so each chapter is its own self-contained story. They're going to be ordered chronologically, and this first one is set several weeks after the end of _Find Me in the Ashes_. While you don't necessary have to have read either of the first two stories in this series to understand this one, it does contain spoilers for them so you may want to read them if you haven't already. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Jim has seen so many beautiful things in his life. He has seen the birth of stars, the setting of suns over alien shores, the smile of a bride on her wedding day. But nothing will ever compare to the man lying beside him now, relaxed and contented in the bed that belongs to them both. Bones is a masterpiece of tousled hair and bare skin and gentle ripples of muscle. Jim props himself up on one arm so that he can get a better look, warm gaze traveling over the familiar features of that beloved face, down to the delicate knobs of Bones’ spine that mark a trail toward the shallow dip of his back.

There is no lust in his inspection - he and Bones have more than satisfied each other in the last hour. It is simply appreciation, because no matter how long he and Bones are together, he doesn’t think he will ever quite stop being amazed by this, by how lucky he got.

Bones cracks an eye open to peer at Jim.

“What’re you lookin’ at, kid?” he mumbles.

Jim leans in to press a kiss to the end of his nose, smiling when it makes Bones’ face scrunch up in that expression he gets when he’s trying to look annoyed but can’t quite manage it.

“You,” Jim tells him.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“No.”

Bones’ expression scrunches up again and he lets out a huff, his eye slipping closed. But Jim can feel the rush of affection that his soulmate sends his way. He returns it, and resumes his inspection.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, and bars of sunlight are filtering in through the window to stripe Bones’ body. His skin is too pale from all of the time that he spent inside while Jim was dead and then recovering, but the sunlight gives it a warm, healthy glow and illuminates the freckles that scatter his shoulders. It plays with his dark hair, bronzing it. Jim reaches out to run his fingers through the silky strands, and his lover lets out a soft murmur of contentment and burrows deeper into his pillow.

Bones is relaxed in a way that he has so rarely been lately, and Jim is relieved to see it. He thinks that maybe today, moving into this new apartment that they picked out together after long weeks spent in Starfleet Medical and then their cramped old standard-issue Starfleet housing, has been good for them both. It’s been a very real reminder that their lives are going on, that they still have a future together, despite all the pain and devastation that had almost torn them apart.

Moving on hasn’t exactly been an easy process, but they’re making steady progress. Their nights are still disrupted by the occasional nightmare, but they are quick to settle in the comfort of each other’s presence. Jim still sometimes catches Bones looking at him like he might disappear, but a squeeze of the hand and a reassuring touch to the bond between them chases the shadows from his eyes. The pulse that Jim can hear thudding in his ears still feels like it belongs to someone else, but when Bones presses a hand to his heart he is grounded again.

But there is no forgetting, for either of them. Jim will carry the cold certainty of death with him until it comes for him again, and Bones will be forever haunted by the knowledge of what it is to lose half of his soul. They’ve decided together to learn from this though, rather than be cowed by it. The two of them have a terrible power over one another, but it need not be something to fear. The same thing that makes them capable of hurting each other so badly is also what means that they are so right for each other. And that, what the two of them have, is something to treasure, not resent.

Jim does his best to shake himself out of the increasingly maudlin thoughts. On impulse, he rolls away from his soulmate just long enough to grab the marker that sits on their new bedside table. They’d used it to label boxes, but he’s got a better use in mind for it now.

“Don’t wiggle,” he warns, before touching the tip of the marker to Bones’ skin.

Bones holds perfectly still, but he opens that eye again to glare.

“Jim-”

“I know, I know - you’re a doctor, not a canvas,” Jim placates absently as he works. “But you’re also stuck with me, so you get to put up with stuff like this.”

Bones grumbles something unintelligible, and Jim ignores him with practiced ease. He focuses on what he’s doing, tracing careful lines between the tan freckles that dust Bones’ shoulders and back, mapping them out into the most beautiful constellation Jim has ever seen - and he’s seen plenty.

When he’s connected each little brown dot, he sits back a bit to admire his work.

“Looks suspiciously like a hypo,” he says, enjoying the scowl that this earns him.

But it doesn’t. It looks like a star, pointed and uneven, exploding across Bones’ left shoulder and trailing stardust down his spine. It looks as perfectly imperfect as Bones himself. It looks like something Jim would navigate by in a sea of darkness, would trust to guide him home.

Jim gazes down at it for a long moment, and finds he has to swallow against a sudden tightness in his throat. Impulse grips him again, and he leans back in and scrawls a label over the star, the black words curving over Bones’ shoulder.

He blows on the marker to dry it, and Bones grunts in protest, squirming away. Jim just laughs and lets him go, capping the marker and tossing it aside. Then he follows Bones across the bed, tugging him close again and tracing his fingers over the lines he’s drawn.

“Is the arts and crafts portion of this afternoon over?” Bones asks, but the warm gleam in his eyes belies his scowl.

“You tell me,” Jim invites, nodding at what he’s drawn.

Bones cranes his neck awkwardly to peer at his shoulder. Jim can see the moment he registers the words, because he stills, his breath hitching audibly. Something undefinable squeezes Jim’s chest.

“It’s sappy as hell,” he admits when Bones doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring. “It’s just, that’s what you are to me. I figured I didn’t say it enough.”

It’s the kind of admission that has been coming easier since Jim’s death. Turns out that thinking you’re never going to see your soulmate again makes you adjust your priorities a little.

Bones finally looks at him then, and it’s with that warm, stunned expression that he still gets sometimes when Jim makes it clear just how much he loves him. Jim both loves and hates that look. Loves it because it never ceases to thrill him that Bones is so happy to be on the receiving end of his affections. Hates it because Bones always seems surprised by the realization, like he doesn’t consider himself worthy of it.

Jim doesn’t get much time to reflect on the matter though, because Bones surges towards him and captures his mouth in a kiss that leaves no room for any other thought.

*****

To say that the Khan attacks and the exposure of Admiral Marcus as a devious, traitorous bastard wreaked havok on Starfleet would be a laughable understatement. Starfleet took a blow directly to its heart, and the damage was catastrophic. Half of its facilities are rubble and dust, a third of its leaders are dead, and the entire organization is under fire from the hurt and angry masses who blame the Fleet for the devastation in San Francisco. There is a tremendous amount of rebuilding to do, both physical and psychological, and that’s only after the extent of the corruption is ascertained and weeded out.

As someone very central to all of these proceedings, Jim is naturally kept quite busy. Deserved or not, he’s shouldered a great deal of responsibility for the damage wrought by Khan and Marcus, and he’s taken it upon himself to make sure that Starfleet rebuilds better than it was. He owes that to Pike, and to the crew who lost their lives under his command.

So he spends long days in the temporary headquarters that Starfleet has set up, attending meeting after painful meeting, trying to pull together the tattered remains of Starfleet’s leadership. He stands his ground when he is questioned for his lack of experience, and it’s not long before he starts to see genuine respect in the eyes of his peers. He knows most of them must have thought he was a hack before, a cocky cadet who got lucky and became a convenient face for Starfleet to put on their posters. A PR tool, and a competent enough captain, but nothing special. It’s gratifying to see them realize that Jim is serious and capable and committed. And if someone happened to hack the communicators of a few of the more arrogant and condescending admirals to change their alert tones to old pop songs from the twenty-second century…well, Jim couldn’t give up his entire personality, could he?

He’s not the only one who’s been pulling long hours. Once Bones finally stopped hovering over Jim, he threw himself back into his own work with a vengeance. He started by seeking out the survivors of the _Enterprise_ and checking on every single one of them, making sure they were recovering all right from the physical and psychological effects of their ordeal. Now he spends most of the time he’s not attending to his Starfleet duties in local clinics, seeing to the overflow of patients that still exists after the attack on the city; mainly amputees and those with respiratory problems from inhaling dust and smoke and chemicals.

So considering the hours that they both work, and the state of exhaustion that they’re usually in when they get home to each other, it’s hardly surprising that it takes Jim a little while to notice that Bones seems to have stopped showering. At first he just assumes that Bones skips the occasional day because he’s too tired, or showers at the hospital or when Jim isn’t home. But then he notices the dark tint of grease in his boyfriend’s hair, and a few experimental sniffs suggest that while he’s is apparently using ample quantities of deodorant, it’s not quite enough to cover up the funk of a man who has not bathed for several days straight.

Now, Jim’s love for Bones is blind and unconditional and eternal and all that, but he can’t help feeling a bit of dismay over this new trend. He’s hesitant to mention it though, because god knows he understands being too tired to deal with just one more thing, including cleanliness. But then one evening they both manage to get home a little early, in time for Jim to make them both a dinner that isn’t from the replicator or a delivery drone. It’s a relaxed affair, comfortable and easy, but when it’s over and Jim settles onto their couch with his padd, Bones joins him a few minutes later, dressed in his pajamas and still distinctly unbathed.

And now Jim knows that something is off, because if Bones has time to stay up reading, then he has time to take a five-minute shower. The time has come to say something.

“If you’re gonna keep staring, you may as well take a picture,” Bones tells him, not taking his eyes from his own padd, before Jim can figure out how to phrase his inquiry.

“You know how you’re the love of my life and my other half and the light of my world and all that romantic crap, right?”

The question earns him a warily raised eyebrow.

“Yes…?” Bones replies, drawing the word out dubiously.

“So you won’t take it the wrong way when I gently and lovingly tell you that you smell like a Klingon’s morning breath?” Jim says it lightly, teasing, but Bones immediately tenses and looks away, closing himself off.

Jim frowns, his gut lurching. It always feels wrong when Bones shuts him out, but the weeks after his death, when Bones had been withdrawn and distant and alone in his pain, have made him truly dread the experience. It hasn’t happened since the day he came home from the hospital and they talked through some of their issues, and Jim had thought that they’d reached a place where it wouldn’t happen again. But the cold, hollow feeling in his chest is unmistakeable.

He does his best to tamp down on the anxiety that grips him. He sits up and sets his padd on the coffee table so that he can turn to give his full attention to his soulmate.

“Okay seriously, Bones, what’s with the not showering?” Frankly, Jim doesn’t care about the lack of cleanliness anymore, except for the fact that it’s clearly a symptom of something deeper. “You’re usually a pretty big proponent of the whole personal hygiene thing.”

Bones says nothing, still not looking at Jim but staring instead at the hands he’s clenched tightly in his lap. Jim reaches for him, taking those balled fists gently in his own hands. He rubs his thumb over Bones’ soulmark, relieved when no move is made to pull away.

“Please,” he says, and the word comes out with a bit more feeling than he’d intended. “Whatever it is, just please don’t shut me out.”

He can’t take that. Not again.

Bones lets out a defeated sigh, but some of the tension seeps out of him. His hands uncurl beneath Jim’s, and he laces their fingers together, gripping tight.

“Sometimes showers wash too much away,” he admits quietly after a moment.

Jim blinks, confused. Sensing this, Bones shakes his head in frustration.

“It’s stupid,” he says, trying to stand, but Jim pulls him back down.

“If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid,” he says firmly. “Just _talk_ to me, Bones.”

Bones sighs again, but he finally looks at Jim. His eyes are weary and sad. Jim must not have been paying as close attention as he should have been, because the pain he can see now in his soulmate’s face is something he should have picked up on a hell of a lot sooner.

Bones disengages his hands from Jim’s and shrugs out of his shirt. Jim is more confused than ever, because using sex as a distraction from difficult conversations is usually more his style than Bones’. But then his boyfriend twists to show him the writing on his shoulder.

_My north star_.

The words have lightened a little, but they’re still clearly visible on Bones’ skin, written above the starburst of ink and freckles on his back. A cold pit begins to form in Jim’s stomach as he looks back up to meet his soulmate’s solemn gaze.

“My head knows that nothing will happen when it disappears,” Bones says, brushing his fingertips over the words. “But that doesn’t stop my heart from pounding and my skin breaking out in a cold sweat when I even think about getting in the shower.”

It’s Jim’s turn to clench his hands, as guilt stabs at him. There is no accusation in Bones’ melancholy gaze, but that just makes it worse. Anger would be better than the heartache staring back at him.

Bones is the most important thing in the world to Jim, and he hurt him unimaginably. Much as they’ve both tried to move on from it, wounds like that inevitably leave scars. And it looks like they’ve just found one of them.

“Thought about getting it tattooed over,” Bones continues. “So it wouldn’t fade, you know?” He shrugs, a self-depreciating, humorless grin touching his lips. “Seemed a little drastic. Especially when I’m trying not to be such a basket case about all this.”

“Hey.”

Jim takes Bones’ face in his hands, leans in until their foreheads are touching.

“I understand,” he says softly. “And I’m so sorry. You are not a basket case, and it was thoughtless of me to write on you after everything that happened. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m gonna help you through this.”

He pulls back and stands, holding out a hand to Bones. His soulmate takes it without hesitation, and allows Jim to pull him to his feet. Jim tugs him wordlessly into the bathroom and starts the shower. The surge of panic that hits him through their bond makes him wince, even though he’s relieved that he’s being allowed to feel it. He steps close to Bones, crowding his line of sight and smiling when he feels him relax a little.

“Sorry,” Bones mutters. “Head and heart.”

“I understand,” Jim says again. “Let’s see if we can’t take care of both.”

Bones nods, and doesn’t protest when Jim slips his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and tugs them down. He even takes the hint and steps out of the rest of his clothes when Jim pulls back just far enough to undress himself. But he still eyes the shower darkly over Jim’s shoulder.

“Just wait, it’s going to feel amazing,” Jim promises, taking Bones’ hands, making sure his palm is pressed to his lover’s soulmark. “Remember being clean, Bones? It’s a wonderful thing.”

Bones is still scowling, but at least now it’s at Jim rather than the shower.

“Don’t patronize me, kid,” he grumbles. “I go through a sterile field more often than you flirt with pretty women.”

Jim just grins at him and backs up slowly, tugging him into the little tiled cubicle of the shower. He doesn’t miss the way Bones tenses slightly when the first spray of water hits him, but he just takes a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to relax as he keeps his gaze fixed on Jim.

Jim gives him a reassuring smile and cups a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him in for a kiss. He makes it a good one, and it’s not long before Bones is returning it readily, his arms circling around Jim to hold him closer. A hand settles on the soulmark at the base of Jim’s spine, and he hums contentedly.

Once he’s sure that Bones is suitably distracted, Jim frees a hand and reaches for the soap. He rubs it over the faded lines of black marker on his lover’s shoulder, coaxing the ink from his skin. He pauses to make sure that everything is still okay, and Bones just leans into him with a faint sigh, tucking his face against Jim’s neck and giving him better access to his back. Jim presses a quick kiss to his damp hair and continues to scrub away at the marker, watching as the water streams over his skin, washing away the suds and ink.

Once every trace of marker is gone, Jim returns the bar of soap to its shelf and wraps his arms around Bones.

“Still with me?” he murmurs.

His answer is a searing, breathtaking kiss.

Bones kisses with a kind of fierce focus that always makes Jim feel like the center of a very small universe just for the two of them. He kisses like Jim is water in the desert, something precious and vital. He kisses with a mouth that should be as legendary as his hands, but that would mean sharing this and that’s not something Jim has any plans of doing in this lifetime or the next.

So while this turn of events is a bit unexpected, he returns the kiss with enthusiasm. It has an urgent edge to it, and Jim understands that it comes from more than simply desire. Bones needs the reassurance that Jim really is still there, very much alive, lost to him no longer. Reassurance that Jim is more than happy to provide.

He presses himself to Bones as the kiss deepens. Water cascades around them, pouring over their entwined bodies and isolating them in a world of their own. Bones’ hands slide into Jim’s hair and anchor there, tilting his head for better access. Jim willingly cedes control, more than content to let Bones have whatever he wants from him. His soulmate’s touch is intoxicating, seeping into his skin and robbing him of any thought beyond the two of them.

After an instant or an eternity, Bones breaks away to trail damp kisses along Jim’s jaw until his lips are at his ear.

“I need you in me, Jim,” he breathes.

Heat explodes in Jim’s gut and sends fire racing through his veins. He grips Bones by the shoulders and reclaims his mouth, sloppier in his urgency as he kisses him for all he’s worth. He feels Bones’ hands digging into his hips, pulling him closer, and he can’t help the moan that escapes him when the friction sends a bolt of electricity up his spine. Bones shudders at the sound, and then his mouth is at Jim’s ear again.

“That wasn’t a polite request,” he growls, in the voice that never fails to wreck Jim. “ _Now_ , Jim.”

He scrapes his teeth over Jim’s earlobe, sending a shiver ripping through him and leaving him gasping. He can only nod helplessly and slide his hands down Bones’ flushed torso, around to the base of his spine, then lower still over the taut curve of his ass. He dips his head to mouth at the racing thrum of Bones’ pulse as he slips the first finger into him. He feels the rhythm stutter in response, and it fills him with a deep, visceral satisfaction to have such a tangible effect on his lover’s heart. Bones’ grip on Jim tightens, his hips jerking forward to grind against him. A whining gasp explodes from Jim, and he feels his own pulse trip.

The intense haze of their combined need is making it difficult for him to even see straight, but he tries to take his time, to prep Bones properly. But a few more impatient commands have him revising those plans in a hurry, quickly adding a second finger, and then a third. It’s not long at all before Bones is coming apart under his touch, writhing against him in a way that seriously tests the limits of Jim’s control. Bones is beautiful like this, his head thrown back against the shower wall with the lack of abandon that he only allows himself in the intimate moments when it’s just the two of them. Jim is tempted to just stare at him for a moment, to take in the sight of his soulmate looking as wrecked as Jim feels, with his dark eyes half closed and his kiss-swollen lips parted slightly, breath coming in soft gasps as little rivulets of water stream over his flushed skin.

But Jim knows that a sightseeing delay would not be well tolerated, so he reaches for the bottle of lube that they always keep in the shower. He comes up empty. He remembers with a groan that they’re in a new apartment, and this shower hasn’t been christened yet. They’ve both been so busy that neither of them has thought to stock it properly.

Jim tries to disentangle himself from his lover.

“I’ll be right-”

“If you leave this shower before you’ve fucked me until I can’t remember my own name, I will make you regret it,” Bones pants, throwing a leg around Jim’s waist and reeling him back in.

Whatever blood remained in Jim’s head races immediately south, leaving him even harder than he already was and dizzy with need. He doesn’t ask Bones if he’s sure. When his lover gets like this, Jim knows better than to cross him.

He lets out a helpless groan and gives Bones one last sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Then he takes him by the shoulders and turns him to face the shower wall, giving Jim the access he needs. He takes Bones’ right hand in his own, braced against the cool tile above their heads, so that his palm is pressed to his lover’s soulmark, the connection between them sparking. The other arm he wraps around Bones’ torso, fingers splayed against the taut muscles of his abdomen.

Jim lines himself up carefully, his forehead pressed to the hot skin between Bones’ shoulder blades, the shower spray pounding into his own back. Any intention he may have had of doing this gently is foiled in a hurry when Bones rocks back against him, taking him in deep and fast. He lets out a strangled cry and thrusts forward automatically, starbursts exploding behind his eyes.

Bones is hot and tight around him, perfect. Jim wants to tell him as much, but he can’t seem to figure out how to make words work. In fact, he can’t seem to figure out how to do much besides just stand there clutching Bones to him, fingers digging into his chest as he struggles to hold himself together and remember how to breathe. You would think, with as many times as they’ve done this, that he would have gotten used to it, would have figured out how to keep himself from getting overwhelmed. But he hasn’t, and he never wants to.

“Jim, please.” It’s no longer the commanding tone, but a helpless whimper that echoes the desperate need that is pounding through Jim’s veins. Bones so rarely sounds like that, but when he does, Jim is left absolutely fucking powerless against him.

This is apparently not the time for slow and gentle, tender and affectionate. This is the time to be _felt_ , to reaffirm, to remember life with all of its rough edges and powerful sensations.

He pulls back just far enough to slam back in again, making them both gasp. This time he doesn’t pause before he does it again, and again, settling into a fierce pace. Jim knows every inch of Bones, inside and out, knows just how to angle his hips so that he hits the perfect spot deep within his lover on every thrust. The sounds Bones makes in response are almost his undoing, and he bites his lip as he fights to keep it together, to last long enough to give his soulmate what he needs. He takes Bones in his hand and strokes him to their frenzied rhythm as he buries himself deep over and over.

They lose themselves but not each other, never each other, as the world narrows down until there is nothing but the wet slide of skin on fevered skin, the gasps and moans that will not be silenced, the waves of pleasure that crash through them both as the connection between them opens wide in a feedback loop of raw sensation.

Eventually Jim’s rhythm falters, his thrusts growing faster and sloppier as the tide crashing through him reaches an almost painful level of intensity and he feels himself beginning to come unravelled. But Bones is right there on the edge with him, and his fingers tighten around Jim’s. He grinds himself back into the next thrust and lets out a sound that is going to leave Jim distracted for weeks to come.

Jim smothers a cry in the damp skin of Bones’ shoulder as he comes with blinding intensity, losing all concept of everything but the man pressed against him, shuddering through his own climax. He clings tightly to Bones, anchoring himself, powerless to do anything else as he rides it out.

His vision slowly begins to clear as he comes back to himself. Neither of them moves or says anything for a long moment, just panting in the thick steam that surrounds them as they try to catch their breath. But Jim realizes that he’s all but collapsed against Bones and has to be squishing him, so he eases back, pulling reluctantly out of his lover. Bones turns to face him again and tugs him in for a kiss, and this one is slow and tender and says everything the sex might have left out.

When Bones finally pulls away, he reaches an arm around Jim and shuts the water off. It should be cold without it, but Jim’s entire body is still flushed with heat, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be cold again. Bones settles a hand on Jim’s chest, his touch gentle, almost reverent as it skims over the soulmark there. After a long moment, he swallows and looks up to meet Jim’s gaze. His expression is open, unguarded, and what it holds steals whatever breath Jim has managed to recover.

“If I’m your north star, you’re my solid ground,” Bones says. Quiet, simple. The statement of an absolute truth.

Jim swallows hard as the weight of that settles over him. It’s a humbling responsibility, one that he knows he will take more seriously than anything else in his life.


	2. Weathered Storms

“Your handwriting is too neat.”

Leonard is too absorbed in the paragraph he’s reading to really register the words. He knows that Jim will just keep pestering him until acknowledged though, so he saves his place with the tip of his finger and glances up.

“What?”

Jim has obviously been fidgeting while Leonard wasn’t looking. He’d started out sitting upright on the small couch in their shared quarters, but he’s managed to twist and slide down the cushions so that he’s nearly flat on his back, his legs in Leonard’s lap and his head bent forward by the armrest at an angle that can’t be comfortable. His shirt is rucked up and he’s peering down his nose at his chest.

“Your handwriting,” he repeats, glancing up at Leonard. “It’s way too neat. How the hell was I supposed to know you’d be a doctor?”

It takes Leonard a moment to follow his train of thought. Then he raises an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me that if the mark on your chest had been messier, you’d’ve had a higher opinion of the person you thought was destined to puke on you?”

Jim’s brow furrows and his mouth opens, but no words come out. Leonard rolls his eyes.

“Face it, Jim. With first words like that, no kind of handwriting would’ve made you think that you were in for a good experience. Which means that you got to be pleasantly surprised. I, on the other hand, thought that my soulmate was going to be sweet and comforting and _sensible_. And people wonder why I’m not an optimist anymore.”

“Hey!”

Jim uses his convenient position to jab his toes into the ticklish spot in Leonard’s side. Leonard lets out an involuntary noise that he will swear until his dying day was not a squeak, and drops his padd. But before he can retaliate, there is a shrill whistle followed by the faint hiss of a comm channel opening.

_“Captain Kirk to the bridge.”_

Leonard glances up at the ceiling as the voice of the gamma shift duty officer rings through the room. No ominous red lights start flashing or alarms blaring, so he assumes that the ship isn’t in imminent danger of blowing up. Jim groans. The two of them only got off shift twenty minutes ago, and they’re both worn out.

“Better you than me,” Leonard tells him, pushing Jim’s legs off his lap. Unbalanced, Jim topples off the couch with a yelp. He shoots his soulmate a betrayed look.

“Pleasantly surprised, my ass,” he mutters to himself as he gets up.

Leonard smirks, but otherwise ignores him as he shuffles around hunting for his uniform and trying to get everything on the right body part. When he feels Jim looming over the back of the couch though, he lifts his head and accepts a quick kiss.

“Let me know if I’m needed,” he says as Jim heads for the door.

Jim waves his understanding without turning back, and the door slides shut behind him.

Leonard pulls on his own uniform, just in case, and settles back onto the couch. He gets through ten more pages of the trashy novel that Uhura got him hooked on before the comm chirps to life again.

_“Bones, report to medbay.”_ Jim’s voice is distorted slightly by the electronics, but there’s still an undercurrent of urgency in it that has Leonard off the couch and heading for the door before he even hears the rest of the orders. _“There’s been an earthquake on Antarra III, and it hit the Federation agricultural colony there. Reports of heavy casualties. Assemble a team of your people to beam down to the surface to provide emergency aid. We’ll be there in sixteen minutes.”_

“I’m on it,” Leonard calls, already putting together a list of people in his head.

He hears Jim making an announcement to the rest of the crew as he makes his way to medbay. It is already bustling with activity by the time he gets there, his staff readying beds and gathering emergency supplies and inventorying their stores. Leonard allows himself a moment of pride in his people before he jumps into the action himself. This will be his sixth experience with major disaster relief, and he knows to select a fairly large team of the most efficient, level-headed people he’s got on staff. They’re seven months into the _Enterprise’s_ first five-year mission, and many of his people were with him before, so he knows exactly who to point at, who to comm to get their off-duty ass out of bed.

By the time the fifteen minute mark rolls around, he’s leading a small army of doctors, nurses, and med techs into the transporter room, where Spock and Jim wait with Scotty and another small army of engineers, operations crew, and officers. Red, blue, and gold collide and mingle, sorting into working teams, while Leonard wades through the crewmembers to the foot of the transporter platform, and the men standing there.

Jim’s expression is serious as he surveys his crew. He holds himself with the gravitas of a natural leader, and no one looking at him would guess that he is anything but committed and confident. But Leonard can feel the nerves radiating from his soulmate, can feel the deep unease that is eating at him. He realizes with a start that Jim has never done this before.

Jim took to his captaincy with such ease and affinity that it’s sometimes too easy for Leonard to forget that he’s only held the position for a little over a year in total, not counting the year that they all spent grounded after the Kahn attacks. Jim’s got the head and heart for leadership, and he’s a damn good captain, but in some things there’s no substitute for experience. And Jim’s never been in charge of a disaster of the magnitude that awaits them. He’s never had thousands of scared and hurting people looking to him for answers.

But, Leonard remembers with a lurch, he _has_ been on the other side of things. Jim has been one of the terrified masses, has relied on the mercy of strangers from the sky to save him from hellish conditions.

Leonard closes the last bit of distance between them and leans in to murmur into Jim’s ear.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks. He’s usually not shy about questioning Jim when he thinks it’s necessary, but this feels different. This isn’t some harebrained scheme that could use a dose of Leonard’s realism. This isn’t a CMO making sure his captain is thinking clearly; it’s a man checking on his soulmate. “It would be perfectly reasonable for you to coordinate things from the ship.”

Jim shoots him a quick glance but doesn’t hold his gaze. He looks back out over his crew.

“That’s not the kind of captain I am, Bones, and it’s not the kind I ever want to be.”

“I know,” Leonard sighs. “It’s what makes you a great one.”

“I hope so.” Jim’s words are so quiet that Leonard is not sure he was meant to hear them.

But then Jim steps up onto the transporter pad, and the milling crowd of crewmen quiets and turns to look at him. Jim is silent for a moment, his eyes traveling from face to face.

“I know that in recent times, the _Enterprise_ has seen more than her fair share of battles,” he starts, his voice ringing out calm and clear. “We’ve had to fight, and fight hard, and it’s cost us. Not just in lives, although those losses will always be felt. It’s cost us our sight of why we’re out here. It’s cost us our sense of purpose. It’s made us feel like we’re on the front lines of a war, like we’re soldiers rather than explorers.”

Jim’s gaze lands on Scotty for a moment, and the engineer gives him a tiny smile.

“But that’s not what this ship is about,” Jim continues. “That’s not what the Federation she represents is about. They’re about discovery, and growth, and most importantly, they’re about people. And today, there are people who need us. That can be scarier than any battle, believe me. But this is why we’re out here. This is what we’ve been fighting for. To have the chance to be there when all seems lost, to share the compassion and humanity that are the heart of Starfleet. I know that no matter your species, you all embody that humanity. So help me share it.”

Leonard can see the effect of Jim’s words on the crew. Their faces are solemn, but their eyes shine with fresh determination. They will follow their captain into the unknown devastation that awaits them, and they will give all they have to make it better.

And so will Leonard. He can feel the anxiety that Jim gave no hint of in his speech, and he wants to put a hand on the small of Jim’s back, to share an extra burst of support, but he restrains himself. There’s not a soul on the ship who doesn’t know that the captain and CMO are soulmates, but they don’t indulge in public displays of affection.

But when Jim steps up onto the transporter pad, Leonard shows his support by climbing up beside him without his usual grumbling. He lets his faith in Jim fill him until it spills over through their joined souls. And although Jim doesn’t turn to look at him, he can feel the rush of gratitude in return as the world dissolves around them in a brilliant swirl of light.

*****

He can do this.

It’s not just what Jim is telling himself, not anymore. It’s become truth.

It’s a surprising realization, in a way. Despite his reassurances to Bones, Jim really hadn’t known how he would handle his first mission of mercy. The _Enterprise_ has delivered supplies to Federation colonies before, has been the saving grace of a planet gripped by plague, has even been forced to intervene in a brewing civil war. And he’s seen the aftermath too, of being too late. He’s seen the survivors of Vulcan, so heartbreakingly few in number, felt the grief and devastation that they could barely contain. He’s seen the wreckage of San Francisco, been a part of the heartache and struggle to rebuild.

But never have they been the first responders to a crisis like this. Never has Jim been the one that thousands of hurt and frightened people are looking to for salvation. But there’s no question that he is now. Chaos wasn’t a big enough word for what awaited them when they materialized in the central square of the colony. The small agricultural town looked like some wrathful giant had taken a pickaxe to it, taking chunks out of buildings and opening gaping fissures in the earth. Fires dotted the ruins, clouds of fumes and particulates hanging in the smoky air. And the colony’s inhabitants looked far worse. Dust-streaked and wide-eyed, many nursing various injuries, they had stared at the newcomers from the _Enterprise_ in complete silence for a moment that seemed like a lifetime.

Jim looked at them, at their fear and shock and desolation, and he couldn’t help but remember. He remembered what it was like to be one of those shell-shocked souls, broken and hurting, unable to quite believe that help had really come. He remembered the desperation after the initial mistrust, remembered the wild urge to cling to his rescuers and never let go, warring with the ingrained instinct to close himself off to protect from any further damage. He remembered the fear that would never quite go away.

Those memories awaited him in every set of eyes he looked into, and each survivor became one more person he could let down. He felt the weight of each individual soul descend onto his shoulders, and it had left him breathless for a long, terrifying moment. But then there had been a steadying presence at his side, a whisper of encouragement not put to words. Jim had torn his eyes from the devastation around him and turned to the crew standing at his back.

And Jim realized that he was being a fool. This crisis, these people, were not on his shoulders alone. Jim was no longer the scared kid he had been on Tarsus IV, alone and unable to rely on anyone but himself. He was the captain of the best damn crew in the Federation, the soulmate of the most remarkable man he knew. He looked at them, and then at the new group that had just materialized behind them.

“You know what to do,” he’d said.

And they had. The engineers had fanned out with their equipment, some putting out fires, some scanning for trapped survivors, others assessing the safety of all the buildings left standing, hurrying to stabilize those that could be saved and evacuate those that couldn’t. The medical teams had been close behind, seeking out the wounded and establishing a triage area under Bones’ calm, authoritative direction. Spock began to oversee the new teams still beaming down from the _Enterprise_ , sending personnel where they were needed most.

For a moment, Jim can only watch with pride. This crew, this family, has always been the best of him. And with their support, with their faith, he can be the man he needs to be. He can do this.

Jim looks around, until he spots a pile of rubble that looks suitable for what he needs. He scrambles up it and pulls his communicator from his belt, setting it to amplify his voice rather than broadcast it elsewhere.

“I’m Captain Kirk, of the USS _Enterprise_ ,” he calls to the crowd of survivors that is already growing as word spreads about their arrival. “We’re here to help.”

*****

Eight hours into their mission, things have finally started to calm down. The uninjured and stable survivors have been evacuated to one of the nearby fields, where they are being managed by _Enterprise_ personnel. The most critically injured have been stabilized by Bones and beamed aboard for more intensive care. The search teams are still combing through the rubble, but they are starting to find more victims than survivors. The dead are carried to another field and laid out in rows, covered in dark tarps as they await identification. Lights have been set up in strategic locations to ward off the darkness that begins to creep in as the planet’s twin suns sink ever closer to the horizon.

Fresh shifts from the _Enterprise_ are still beaming down periodically, and Jim has started to order some of the first responders back to the ship for rest. None of them are particularly happy about it.

“We’re fine, Captain,” a young security ensign insists when Jim tells her and the two other redshirts with her that they’re to be in the next group to go back. “We want to keep helping.”

Jim understands the desire, and knows that in her place he would be saying the same thing, but it’s his job to take care of his crew, and he knows the toll that this mission is exacting from them. He’s incredibly proud of them, but he can’t let that compromise their safety.

“You want to see how helpful you are after you’ve been sedated and shipped back to one of my biobeds for mandatory nap time?” a voice asks from behind Jim.

The ensign gulps, and she and her companions retreat to the established transporter relay point without further complaint. Jim turns, a tired smile pulling at his lips. Bones is covered in dust and dirt, his uniform streaked with blood and torn in a couple of places, and weariness lies in the set of his shoulders, but he’s still a sight for sore eyes.

“Should I be worried that my crew listens to you more than they do to me?” Jim asks him.

“ _I’m_ the one who should be worried. Your crew is starting to take after you.”

Jim huffs out a weary chuckle and looks around. He’s been working his way through the field of survivors, listening to concerns, clasping shoulders and hands, distributing blankets, offering what assurances he can without peddling lies. It feels like so little, but he knows from experience that it can be an invaluable comfort. His crew is doing the same. He can see their own sorrow, their heartache, but it’s their compassion that shows the most. If they’re like him, then that is his greatest accomplishment.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Bones doesn’t disagree. He just presses a bottle of water and a protein bar into Jim’s hands.

“Finish both of those,” he orders.

Jim knows better than to argue. He’s spent hours helping the search teams dig through the remains of destroyed houses, and his body is drained and sore.

“How are you doing?”

Jim knows that Bones isn’t asking about physical fatigue.

“I’m all right, Bones.” Those words aren’t always true when he says them, but they are now. He’s sad and exhausted, like they all are, but his ghosts are all in check. Bones can evidently sense that, because after a moment, he just nods.

A booming crash rends the air, and Jim jumps. He looks around urgently, expecting to see one of the few remaining buildings collapsing, but everything is still.

“Thunder, darlin’,” Bones tells him, frowning up at the sky.

Jim looks up as well. He blinks. Without him noticing, the darkness of evening has been compounded by an ominous mass of thick, stormy clouds. He pulls his communicator from his belt.

“Kirk to _Enterprise_. Sulu, am I about to get wet?”

_“Negative, sir. According to our readings, the system will pass you guys by without dropping any water.”_

Lightning streaks across the sky, searing Jim’s retinas. As another roll of thunder follows it, a sudden deluge descends, striking Jim’s face in a wave of cold and making him gasp. There’s an explosion of cursing from beside him as he and Bones are both drenched instantly.

“Sulu?”

_“Captain?”_

“Check your instruments.”

Jim snaps his communicator shut and lifts his hand to his face, shielding his eyes so that he can look at Bones. The CMO is already starting to head back to the triage area, so Jim follows him.

“We need to start getting more of these people on the ship, Jim,” Bones says, raising his voice slightly to combat the steady drum of the rain. “We’ve got nowhere to shelter them down here.”

Jim agrees. They hadn’t been planning on transporting anyone but the seriously injured aboard the ship, choosing instead to wait for the second Federation ship, the USS _Donovan_ , which had been dispatched with more of the appropriate supplies and a team designated to help the colony start rebuilding. But they can’t leave the colonists exposed like this. The few buildings that are still standing have been declared unsafe, and it won’t do much good to get the survivors out of the rain only to have a building collapse on them. They’ve got a few tents, but they won’t be nearly enough to shelter all of the survivors and crew.

_“_ Enterprise _to Kirk_. _”_

Jim lifts his communicator again.

“Go ahead, Sulu.”

_“Sir, according to Engineering, we’ve got some power modulation problems up here. They don’t think it’s anything major, but it seems to be affecting some of our instrumentation. Until they figure out what’s causing it, and exactly which systems it’s affecting, they’re advising against use of the transporter.”_

Jim closes his eyes and forces himself to take a breath.

“Acknowledged, _Enterprise_ ,” he manages.

There is a warm hand on his elbow, a touch of calm that is not his own. He opens his eyes to find Bones watching him.

“You can handle this too, Jim,” he says firmly.

Jim isn’t sure what he did to deserve Bones’ faith in him, but he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He nods, and adjusts the dial on his communicator. He comms Spock and tells him to initiate a sort of secondary triage of the survivors, deciding which ones are in most urgent need of shelter and should have priority with the tents. Then he checks with the _Enterprise_ to find out if the shuttles are being affected as well. They aren’t, so he orders them to be put to use in a prioritized evacuation. It will be much slower than the transporters, but it’s better than nothing.

That’s the located survivors taken care of. But they hadn’t finished searching the town when the rain started, and there could still be victims buried in the rubble or lost and beyond calling for help. With the rain rapidly turning the disturbed earth into a dangerous sea of mud, the time available to locate those people has been shortened significantly.

He orders his most experienced engineering and operations crew to continue the search in teams. He’s about to join them when Scotty appears out of the rain. He’s drenched, hair plastered to his head and shirt darkened to the color of blood, but he’s grinning.

“Give me good news, Scotty.”

“The secondary greenhouse is still structurally sound,” the engineer reports. “My team just cleared it. It’s big enough to hold the survivors. It’ll be a wee bit cramped, but it’ll keep everyone out of the wet.”

Jim claps his friend gratefully on the shoulder.

“Have your people start moving the wounded to the greenhouse,” he tells Bones. “Then stay there and do what you can. I’ll go see if I can find you a few more patients.”

He sets off into the downpour, and although he can feel Bones’ worry, his soulmate doesn’t try to stop him.

The rain makes the rescue mission a damn sight harder, but the _Enterprise_ crew still soldiers on, pulling colonists from the wreckage of their lives and bringing the survivors back to the greenhouse, which has become a hive of organized chaos. Jim stays out as long as he can, going from team to team as needed. As the weather begins to get even worse and the crew starts finding fewer and fewer victims alive, he orders team by team of his people back to the safety of the greenhouse.

He doesn’t join them though. He roams the devastated colony, rounding up stragglers. He can’t comb through the rubble by himself, but he can search the streets at the outskirts of the town for survivors that were missed, can guide them to safety. Bones shoots him looks every time he drops a new group off at the greenhouse, but knows better than to ask him to stay. They both understand that Jim won’t leave anyone behind. He can’t. And Jim knows that Bones would be right out there with him if he didn’t have patients inside who needed him.

Jim wants to stay out until he knows there’s no one left to find, but eventually he’s forced to accept that it isn’t possible. Lightning tears through the dusky sky, its white flash dousing the entire colony in stark light. It is accompanied instantaneously by a deafening crack of thunder, and Jim knows that the time has well and truly come to seek shelter. He hasn’t come across anyone for almost ten minutes, and no one he’d be able to help would still be out here. He turns around to head back to the greenhouse, but as he starts to jog down the ruined street, he hears a faint sound over the thundering of the rain.

He stops, shaking water out of his ears, straining to listen. The sound comes again, a faint, hiccuping sob.

“Hello?” he calls, voice swallowed by the rain.

He gets no response. He shields his eyes and blinks the water from them, straining to see through the last of the fading light. He listens hard, and as soon as another sob of distress reaches him, he takes off for the source of the sound. He stops in front of the splintered remains of one of the houses, and drops to his knees in the soupy mud. The door to the house has buckled outward, providing scant shelter for the young boy sheltering beneath it.

The child is covered in mud and soot, tear tracks streaking his cheeks. He can’t be older than five. He’s huddled between the door and its frame, wedged into the tiny space with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He must have been hiding for hours, too scared to move. He stares at Jim with wide and terrified eyes as another flash of lightning illuminates the pitiful scene.

Part of Jim feels like curling up and crying himself, but he musters up a reassuring smile.

“Hi there,” he calls gently. “My name’s Jim. I’m with Starfleet. You know Starfleet?”

The boy nods once.

“Then you know I’m here to help.” It takes a moment, but the boy nods again. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Galdriel.” The reply is shaky and quiet, but it’s there. Jim reaches out slowly to the boy.

“It’s gonna be all right, Galdriel,” he promises. “I’m gonna get you someplace safe. We’ll help you find your-”

He cuts himself off, because he can’t promise this boy a family that might not still be there to find.

“We’ll find someone for you, all right? You’ll be okay.”

Galdriel eyes Jim for another moment, his lashes still sticky with tears. He evidently decides to trust Jim though, because his skinny body unfolds, revealing the small, battered teddy bear that he’d been clutching to his chest.

“Can Digger come to the safe place too?” he asks.

“Well, we certainly can’t leave him behind, now can we?”

Galdriel passes the muddy, soaked teddy to Jim, and then crawls forward out of his makeshift shelter. He wraps his skinny arms around Jim’s neck and clings tightly.

“I’ve got you,” Jim promises, scooping the boy into his arms.

He tucks his chin over Galdriel’s head, trying to shield him from the worst of the rain. He makes his way as quickly as he can towards the shelter of the massive greenhouse, blinded by the relentless downpour and slipping in the sea of mud. He winds up following his connection to Bones more than his eyesight, and eventually he finds his way back into the shelter of the greenhouse’s entranceway. Bones meets him at the door.

“Tell me this is the last of them,” he says quietly, reaching for the boy in Jim’s arms.

“I hope so.” Jim’s words are accompanied by yet another flash of lightning, a peal of thunder accompanying it without pause.

Galdriel wails in distress, and for a moment Jim thinks it’s an objection to being separated from his rescuer and handed off to a stranger, but then he makes out the words in the child’s cries.

“Digger!” he sobs, trying to throw his tiny body towards the exit. “You said we wouldn’t leave him behind!”

Jim realizes that Galdriel is no longer clutching his prized bear. He looks around, but the floor is bereft of stuffed animals. He presses his face to the glass door of the greenhouse and peers out into the street, illuminated by the glow of emergency lights. He can see a bedraggled lump of fabric ten yards from the entrance, lying abandoned on the ground.

He turns back to Galdriel, who is still flailing in Bones’ arms.

“I keep my promises,” he tells the boy.

Bones is struggling to hold onto the distressed child, but he still manages to fix Jim with a warning look.

“Jim, don’t you dare-”

But Jim is already jogging back out into the rain towards the abandoned toy. Galdriel’s entire world has literally just crumbled around him, the last thing he needs is to lose his faithful friend in this time of crisis. Besides, it’s only a short run. Bones won’t even lose sight of him.

Jim scoops up the soggy teddy and turns back to the greenhouse entrance. He waves at Bones, who scowls at him from the doorway where he stands holding a slightly-calmer Galdriel. Jim offers him a placating smile as he runs back towards shelter, and Bones’ expression only darkens dangerously.

Then the world explodes. Searing pain erupts in Jim’s back and tears through his entire body in a fraction of an instant. Everything goes blindingly white, and then completely black.

*****

Every part of Jim aches, from the tips of his hair to the ends of his toenails. His ears ring and feel like they’re full of water. His skin is raw and tender, even against the soft fabric of what he can feel are medbay linens. And the fact that he knows the exact feel of the medbay linens is something he would rather not think about too carefully.

Jim’s eyelids are just about the only things that don’t hurt, so he cracks them open. Yep. Medbay.

He struggles to remember what landed him here this time. His thoughts feel a little slow and muddled, but it comes to him. Antarra III. The storm. Galdriel and the abandoned teddy. A blaze of burning agony and then utter blackness.

Damn. One of those lightning strikes must have hit him. No wonder he feels like shit.

Jim suddenly becomes aware of the glare burning a hole through the side of his head. He grimaces, braces himself. Then he turns to face the music.

He blinks. Bones looks _awful_. His face is grey with exhaustion and the the shadows around his eyes are so pronounced it looks like someone punched him repeatedly in the face. His clothes are rumpled and bloodstained and he still has streaks of soot and dried mud in his disheveled hair. He seems to have aged about ten years since Jim last saw him. And the look in his eyes…Jim recognizes that look.

Stomach clenching, he glances nervously down at the back of Bones’ hand. _Shit_. The mark there is barely visible, faded to a ghostly grey. Which means that this whole ordeal has been a bit closer of a call than normal. Jim has put his soulmate through hell again.

Bones says nothing as Jim studies him in concern. He just stares back with dark eyes, his expression difficult to read beneath the scowl that they both know is only a mask. He looks worse than he did the last time Jim woke up from death. Somehow that feels better though, because it means he’s not trying to hide anything, not trying to shut Jim out by putting on a brave face for him.

The silence stretches on as the two of them continue to stare at each other. Jim realizes that this is a pretty significant moment for them. This is the first time they both know that the next words out of their mouths are going to be printed on each other’s skin forever. Honestly, it’s kind of a lot of pressure.

Bones probably doesn’t have the same qualms as him. The way he’s glowering at Jim suggests that he’s had some time to think about what his first words are going to be, and they’re not likely to be very flattering.

Well, there’s no help for it, really. Jim tries a smile.

“Dear, brilliant love of my life-”

“Hotheaded reckless idiot with a messiah complex,” Bones cuts him off fiercely.

And okay, Jim feels terrible that he put Bones through this again, but _really._

“That could have been on my _face_ ,” he protests indignantly. Then he freezes, realizing that he’s not actually sure where this soulmark is, and it could really be on his face for all he knows. He gives Bones a wide-eyed stare. “It’s not, is it?”

The scowl only deepens. Bones leans in, taking Jim’s face in his hands, fingers colder than usual. Jim braces himself, expecting yelling or at the very least one hell of a lecture. But Bones just stares at him, evidently at a loss for words. Jim reaches up with some effort to cover his hands with his own. Bones shakes his head, his grip tightening.

“You would deserve it,” he says thickly. “You would deserve to have that tattooed on your face, you goddamn _moron-_ ”

His voice breaks, and he ducks his head so that Jim can’t see his face. But he doesn’t cut off their connection, and Jim can feel the storm of emotions raging through him. He can feel the echoes of Bones’ terror and agony, can feel the painful intensity of his relief, and his anger, yes, there’s plenty of that too. But Jim understands where it’s coming from, and it makes his heart twist to know what he’s done to Bones. Again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right, Bones, I was stupid, and I’m so fucking sorry. Come here.”

Bones doesn’t even make a show of arguing. He just climbs up beside Jim, their bodies pressed close on the biobed meant for one. Jim leans in, and when Bones doesn’t pull away, he kisses him. Bones responds with an urgency that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with reassurance, affirmation. When it’s over, he tucks his face against Jim’s shoulder and lets out a sigh, his eyes drifting shut. He looks wearier than ever, but the storm seems to have passed. Jim lifts an unsteady hand to stroke through his hair.

“Are you all right?” he asks, and he figures it’s a dumb question, but Bones doesn’t brush it off.

“I will be,” he sighs. He cracks his eyes open to gaze at Jim solemnly. “This won’t be like last time, Jim, I promise. It wasn’t as- no, that’s a lie. It was just as bad as last time, it just didn’t last as long. I watched you get hit, and I _felt_ you go-” Bones’ voice cracks and his eyes squeeze shut again. Jim watches his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. “But I was there within seconds, and I had my kit with me, and I could actually _do_ something about what had happened to you instead of just having to _watch-_ ”

Bones takes another deep breath. He lets it out in a heavy sigh and looks up at Jim.

“It took two minutes to revive you, and they were a damn long two minutes, let me tell you, but they were nothing like those weeks after the warp core. I didn’t go down the same rabbit holes I did then.”

Jim believes him, and is relieved for it. And finally, Bones smiles. It’s a tiny, crooked thing, but it’s real.

“I did better this time, Jim,” he says. “I didn’t let everyone else down while I was taking care of you.”

Jim has been so caught up in his concern for his soulmate that he’s all but forgotten how he got hurt in the first place. But at Bones’ words, thoughts of the devastated colony come rushing back.

“The colonists?” he asks.

“Safe. The greenhouse worked as an emergency shelter, and the engineers managed to get the _Enterprise’s_ transporters working again before too long. We got the worst cases up here, and my team and I were able to stabilize most of them while Spock managed logistics on the ground. The USS _Donovan_ arrived about an hour ago and took over the operation. They’re taking care of everyone, and they’ll help the people who want to stay rebuild when they’re ready. I’ve been sitting here watching you drool ever since.”

“Do you know what happened to Galdriel?” Jim asks. “The last boy I came in with?”

“He’s with his aunt.” Bones’ eyebrow quirks. “Him _and_ Digger.”

Jim clears his throat and looks away from Bones’ pointed glare. He’s glad that Galdriel is okay, but he suspects that he’s not even close to done catching hell for this.

“Dying for a damn teddy bear,” Bones huffs. He shakes his head. “Only you, Jim.”

“Only I could be so brave and noble, you mean? I agree.”

Bones snorts but doesn’t bother arguing. The two of them lie there in silence for a moment.

“I’m proud of you, Jim.” Bones’ words are quiet, almost too quiet for Jim’s lightning-damaged ears to pick up. He clears his throat. “Not for the bonehead stunt you pulled with the stuffed animal, but for the rest of it.”

Jim blinks up at the ceiling, remembering. Faces flash through his mind. He sees the colonists from Antarra III, scared and desperate and hurting. He sees people from a different colony, just as scared and desperate, in just as much pain. He was so helpless on Tarsus; did he really do any better on Antarra?

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispers.

“It never does, darlin’,” Bones sighs. “Believe me.”

He lifts his head to capture Jim’s gaze.

“But no one could have done more for those people than you did,” he says firmly. “Sometimes that’s all there is.”

Jim holds his gaze for a moment, and then he swallows and nods. Bones isn’t one to coddle Jim’s ego, so he must believe in what he said. It means more to Jim than he could have predicted.

Bones settles back against him and silence falls again. There’s plenty that’s being left unsaid, but Jim knows that there’s not much point in changing that. He and Bones understand each other too well for that. He knows that Bones is still hurting, and Bones knows that he’s sorry, and they both know that this might not be the last time they’re in this situation. Dwelling over it won’t accomplish anything.

“Bones?”

“Yeah?”

“My new soulmark’s really not on my face, right?”

Bones laughs, and the sound simultaneously puts Jim at ease and makes him very, very nervous.

“It’s on your right ankle,” Bones says. “It also doesn’t say what you think. You were semiconscious for a few minutes a couple of hours ago, and apparently it counted.”

He presses a quick kiss to Jim’s lips and then pulls away, clambering down from the biobed.

“I have to go check on the last of my patients from the colony, and you need to rest,” he says. He leans in to touch his forehead to Jim’s. “Do this to me again, and I won’t be so nice about what winds up tattooed on your body for the rest of your life.”

He leaves, and Jim tugs the blanket away from his legs. He lifts his right foot and blinks. While he supposes it wasn’t technically inaccurate of Bones to say that the new soulmark is on his ankle, it left out the fact that the mark is most definitely not _only_ on his ankle. Every inch of skin from just below Jim’s right knee to the top of his foot is crammed with words, Bones’ neat handwriting wrapping around his leg in loop after loop.

Jim stares. What could Bones possibly have had to say that would require so many words? He squints until he can read the familiar handwriting. And then his mouth drops open. Of course. What a _Bones_ thing to do.

Printed indelibly on Jim’s body is an exhaustive list of every single allergy he has. It’s alphabetized.

Jim starts to laugh. It hurts a little, but it’s a good kind of ache, and he doesn’t stop.


	3. Universal Constants Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one was originally going to be just a single chapter, but it got crazy long and I decided to split it into two. The 5+1 thing will still apply though. This is based on a TOS episode, but if you're familiar with it, don't feel like the plot of this story has been spoiled, as there are many changes. It's set about a month before Star Trek Beyond.
> 
> A brief warning for some minor consent issues that arise when there are multiple universes in play, but there will be absolutely NO rape/sexual assault in this story.

Leonard has always hated transporters. He’s made no secret of it, and he’s sure that Scotty and Transporter Chief Kyle are sick of hearing him complain about them by now. There’s just something about knowing that he’s being ripped apart atom by atom and flung through space at the speed of light that unsettles him to his core. But truthfully, he’s never really had anything to substantiate his prejudice. Until now.

He’s so focused on not hurling up his lunch after what was the roughest transport of his life that he doesn’t even notice anything else is off for a second or two. His head is spinning and his insides feel like they’ve been rearranged by someone with a very limited understanding of human anatomy and he’s already gearing up for what he can feel is going to be an impressive rant when he hears Nyota’s soft gasp from beside him. He looks up, and freezes.

He’s not entirely sure what to look at first. He feels like he’s been dropped into the middle of one of those spot-the-difference puzzles that Joanna had enjoyed when she was younger. The transporter room he’s standing in is essentially the same as the one he remembers, structurally and functionally identical, and most of the faces looking back at him are familiar. But the _differences_ …

Difference: the bizarre logo of a sword thrust through a globe on what should be blank walls. Difference: everyone except Spock extending their hands toward the away team in a salute that looks straight out of twentieth-century Earth history books. Difference: the gold-sashed uniforms and honest to god _daggers_ strapped to every person, including Leonard. Difference: half a dozen armed guards watching everything closely. Difference: Spock’s _facial hair_.

Leonard feels Nyota and Scotty draw closer to him, and he shoots quick glances at them both. They appear to be as confused and alarmed as he is, but they’re the only ones. The transporter techs, the security officers, Spock, they all appear to be unconcerned. Well, except for Chief Kyle, who looks like he might vomit.

“Dr. McCoy, are you all right?” he asks anxiously, getting up from his control seat.

He seems terrified in a way that bewilders Leonard. Sure, the two of them are on perfectly decent terms, but he doesn’t think he’s ever even spoken to Kyle outside of an official capacity more than once or twice. He and Scotty, on the other hand, work closely together. If Kyle should be worried about any individual member of the away team, Leonard would think it’d be him.

Before he can get his bearings enough to figure out what to say, Spock starts to speak, ignoring Kyle’s question.

“The away team has returned to the ship, Captain,” he says, and Leonard looks around automatically before realizing that he must be communicating with Jim on the surface. He’d stayed on the Halkan homeworld to continue trying to secure Federation mining rights from the extremely peaceful and cautious locals, despite Leonard’s objections to leaving him behind in the middle of an ion storm. “However, there appear to have been some complications with the transporter as a result of the storm. I would recommend that you remain on the surface until Mr. Scott and I can confirm that there will be no problems with your transport.”

 _“My pleasure. These pacifist morons are going to take some more persuasion, and you know how good I am at that._ ”

An involuntary shudder passes through Leonard. He would recognize that voice anywhere, but there’s something _off_ about it, some quality that it’s lacking.

And that’s when he feels it. Or rather, it’s what he doesn’t feel, which is his connection to Jim. There’s no gaping, agonizing hole in Leonard’s soul like there has been when he's lost Jim, but nor is there any trace of the subtle but constant warmth of his soulmate’s presence. Did something happen to Leonard in the transporter beam? Has the damn thing addled his perceptions, or altered him so fundamentally that he’s no longer connected to Jim? Surely that isn’t possible?

 _“Is my CMO still intact?”_ Jim’s voice asks over the comm before Leonard’s alarmed thoughts can progress much further.

“Apparently so, Captain, as are the others.”

_“Good. You know what to do with that idiot Kyle.”_

“Indeed, Captain. Spock out.”

Leonard isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting when Spock turns to Kyle, but the cold and dispassionate use of some kind of torture device on the poor man sure as hell isn’t it. Leonard senses Nyota flinch beside him as Kyle’s screams fill the air, feels her grip his forearm tightly, but they all know better than to react beyond that.

Visibly, at least. Internally, Leonard is reeling.

His initial impression of Spock nearly five years before wasn’t exactly a favorable one. The first time he’d laid eyes on the Vulcan, Spock had been doing his level best to get Jim booted out of Starfleet. And while it may have been satisfying under other circumstances to watch Jim go a few rounds with someone who actually challenged him, Spock had crossed a line at that hearing, and Leonard had been able to feel Jim’s hurt at the mention of his father. And within the next twenty-four hours, he’d watched Spock maroon Jim on an arctic wasteland and then nearly strangle him to death. Needless to say, Leonard hadn’t been predisposed to liking him.

But after prolonged exposure, he’s come to respect Spock, admire him, even. Good luck getting him to admit it, but he values his sharp-edged friendship with the Vulcan dearly. The man is fundamentally _good_ in a way that inevitably shows through, no matter how cool and detached he tries to remain.

And this bearded torturer? This is not Spock. No way in hell.

Leonard, Scotty, and Nyota watch in stunned silence as the stranger with Spock’s face finally lifts the device from Kyle’s chest, allowing him to slump into the grasp of the two security guards holding him in place. His agonized screams finally subside, but they still ring in Leonard’s ears.

They have to get out of here. Leonard is certain of almost nothing at the moment, but that he knows.

“That transport was brutal,” he announces, relieved when his voice comes out approximating normal. “I’m taking these two to medbay. Need to make sure everything’s still attached where it should be.”

Not-Spock quirks an eyebrow and studies the three of them for a moment. Then he nods.

“Very well, Doctor. I shall expect Scott and Uhura at their stations once you have cleared them. You will also have several injuries to attend to among the crew.”

Leonard nods and leads his friends in a hasty retreat. Thankfully the ship seems to be set up essentially the same, but it’s still a tense trip to medbay. Fresh differences, large and small, keep jumping out at Leonard. The few people they pass either do a bizarre but evidently respectful salute, or merely avert their eyes. A few even skitter out of their paths.

If Leonard had thought that medbay would be something of a comforting refuge, he’s disabused of that notion pretty damn quick. Only three of the beds that Leonard can see are occupied when they arrive, but of those patients, one is strapped down and screaming in pain while Dr. Greer and an unfamiliar nurse set his compound femur fracture apparently without a drop of analgesics. Christine Chapel and her friend Nurse Greenwater are looking on in interest. Christine grins when she spots Leonard, and the expression is so unsettling that it actually stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, Doctor,” she calls. “Want to get in on the action? Ryan thinks this guy’s going to last another two minutes, but I make it no more than thirty seconds before he’s out. Thoughts?”

It takes Leonard a moment to figure out exactly what she means, perhaps because the concept is so foreign to him, so unthinkable. And then he gapes, horrified and speechless. They’re _betting_ on how long the man in their care will stay conscious before passing out from pain that they could easily treat.

His stomach lurches and his hands clench into fists. Outrage boils within him and he tenses, prepares to unleash hell on this staff.

“Oh, God,” Scotty whispers as he finally gets it as well.

The soft exclamation gives Leonard pause, reminds him of their circumstances. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to stay calm. They have no idea what the hell is happening right now, and until they do, figuring it out has to be priority number one. If he goes off on these strangers with familiar faces and gets himself into trouble, he’ll be dragging his friends along with him, and he can’t risk that.

“I make it zero seconds,” he tells Christine, keeping his voice level. “Give him a dose of Zorphalectyl; that’s an order.”

She gives him a strange look and pouts when she realizes that he’s serious, but she grabs a hypo and stalks toward the screaming ensign. Merciful silence descends a moment later, and Leonard turns away. He’s itching to check on the rest of the patients, to make sure they’re not suffering the same horrific mistreatment, but he can’t take that time, not yet.

He leads his friends into what is evidently still his office, and finally allows himself to feel a modicum of relief when the door slides shut behind them, sealing them off in safe privacy for the first time since this bizarre trip began. It’s also his first time to get a good look at the other two. Scotty looks more or less like Leonard would have expected; dressed in basically the red version of what Leonard is wearing. Nyota is wearing a crop top and miniskirt.

Leonard blinks at his friend, and she crosses her arms over her chest, lifting her chin. Her eyes are overly bright though, and something in them cuts into Leonard. That’s when he places what’s wrong with the picture; well, aside from the women on this ship apparently being forced to dress like hookers instead of officers. He’s performed enough physicals on Nyota to know that the elegant Vulcan script of her soulmark should be boldly visible on her bare midriff, the countless loops and whorls of alien language snaking down her torso and patterning her abdomen. But her skin is completely unmarked.

Leonard’s stomach drops and he yanks at his sash until the ridiculous thing comes loose and frees his shirt, which he shrugs off as fast as the constricting garment will allow. He twists to look at his left side, just below his armpit. He’d known, somehow, what he was going to find, but the sight of the bare expanse of skin, unmarred by his messy scrawl of a soulmark, is still a blow. It’s not just faded; it’s entirely gone.

He can’t help staring for a moment, heart stuttering, breaths suddenly empty.

He’s always hated that soulmark, is the thing. From the moment he had the time to read it, after he’d gotten Jim stabilized from that damn lightning strike, it’s been like a physical weight on him, stinging him over and over.

He brushes his fingers over the spot where the words ‘ _Hurts, Bones_ ’ should be. The mark was a reminder of his failure, of his inability to keep his soulmate safe. It was a reminder of the long hours he’d spent by Jim’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up. It was a reminder that despite all the pain meds he could safely pump into Jim’s system, he’d still stirred fitfully, still cracked open those bloodshot blue eyes and let out a pitiful little moan. He’d still reached for Leonard with a hand that could barely twitch off the biobed, still whimpered of his _pain_. It was a reminder that Leonard could do nothing but grip his hand and just _sit_ there, reciting each of Jim’s allergies from memory because it was the only damn bit of aid he had to offer.

And now that it’s gone, he would do just about anything to have it back.

He checks his arm next, even knowing exactly what he’ll find. The tattooed outlines of Jim’s first words to him are still there, but the faded mark itself has vanished. The back of his hand is similarly blank.

Leonard’s heart begins to pound as he is confronted anew by the empty feeling he’d first noticed in the transporter room. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, reaching for the bond inside him. But there’s nothing there. It’s not like the times that Jim has died. Leonard knows that feeling far too well, and this isn’t it. But this is like waking up one morning to find that he only has one leg after going to bed with two. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it feels utterly _wrong_ and leaves him hopelessly off-balance.

He opens his eyes to see Scotty and Nyota watching him solemnly. He meets Nyota’s gaze and they exchange looks of grim understanding. They both turn to Scotty, whose face is pale and drawn in a way that is so uncharacteristic for him. He swallows hard, and then reaches up with unsteady hands to undo the zipper at the back of his shirt, pulling at the red fabric. He turns, and Leonard looks at the pale skin of his shoulder, scattered with a few freckles but otherwise unmarked.

“I’m sorry, Scotty.”

Scotty nods jerkily and zips his shirt back into place. His eyes are wet when he turns back to face the other two. None of them seem to know quite what to say.

“So.” Leonard clears his throat. “Either of you have any ideas?”

Between the three of them, it doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the only conclusion that seems possible, however improbable it is: they’re in the wrong universe. It’s a fate made easier to accept by the fact that they already knew full well that alternate universes exist - they’ve all met the evidence. But Leonard, for one, never expected to end up in one himself. He’d never anticipated the visceral offense of it, the way it feels like the very ground has become unsteady beneath his feet. Never in his life has he felt smaller.

No one says what he suspects they’re all thinking: the one person they know who hails from an alternate universe has never gotten back. And then an equally alarming realization occurs.

“There have to be versions of us that belong in this universe,” Leonard says. “And if we’re here, where are they? Is there a risk of us running into them, or are they…?”

“In our universe,” Nyota finishes for him. “They must be, or someone would already have noticed the duplication.” She looks at Scotty. “Could they have been beaming up at the same time we were, and we got switched somehow?”

Scotty considers that for a second, and then he nods.

“Aye,” he says. “I think that must be it. The ion storms in both universes could have disrupted the transporter circuits, swapped us around. Crivens, what are the odds?”

“We would need Spock to calculate those,” Leonard snorts. Then he winces and looks apologetically at Nyota, who waves it off.

“Why…?” Scotty begins, his voice a little different. “I mean- why do you suppose our soulmarks are gone?”

It’s hardly the most important question, but Leonard can’t deny that it’s eating at him too. He realizes abruptly that he’s still shirtless, and he bends to pick up his uniform from where it’s lying carelessly discarded on the floor.

“Soulmates must not exist in this universe,” Nyota says slowly as he shrugs into the top that feels more and more like a straightjacket by the minute.

It’s a shocking, foreign idea, and yet…The memories of that twisted medbay, of Spock torturing Kyle, flash through Leonard’s mind.

“Suppose that makes sense,” he says, voice dark. “I’m not sure they have _souls_ in this universe.”

They all take a moment to absorb that.

Coming here has changed them. They can all feel it. But how permanent is that change? If they get back, will Leonard still have a soulmate? Or is he doomed to spend the rest of his life aching for the completeness that he’d once known?

“What do you think this means for our Spock and Kirk?” Nyota asks, looking at Leonard with worry. “You don’t think- I mean, it won’t be like we died, will it?”

What she’s really asking is if he thinks Jim and Spock are at risk for psycholytic shock. It’s a condition that Leonard wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, much less his lover or his friend.

“I don’t know,” he admits reluctantly. “I’m a little out of my depth here.”

“Okay.” Nyota takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders. “Okay. We need to figure out how to get back.” She looks at Scotty. “You said you think this was caused by the transporters. Can you figure out how exactly, and work out from there potential ways of reversing it?”

Scotty still looks bewildered and scared, but his chest puffs out a little and he raises his chin.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Lassie?” he asks. “The day I can’t figure out my own transporters is the day I retire from Starfleet to sell hooch on the nearest starbase.”

Despite everything, Leonard can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. Scotty has one hell of a resilient spirit, and he’s grateful for it.

“While you’re down there…” Nyota shoots a brief glance at Leonard. “You should probably try to disable the transporter, at least until we need it.”

It only takes a second for Leonard to figure out what she’s getting at.

“You want to trap Jim down on that planet?” he demands. “We’re in the middle of an ion storm!”

“I think it’s a good idea to keep the captain of this ship off of it for as long as possible,” Nyota says, and there’s sympathy in her expression but no hesitation. “Were you looking at it on our way here? Something tells me it’s not on a peaceful mission of exploration like our _Enterprise_ is. The longer this universe’s Kirk is down on the planet, the more time we have to figure out a course of action without worrying about him ordering some kind of drastic action. _And_ the less chance there is of us getting caught.”

It makes sense, Leonard knows it does. Certainly more sense than the strange reluctance that is weighing on him. It’s not his Jim they’re talking about stranding, not his Jim who’ll be exposed to a dangerous ion storm. But it is _a_ Jim, and caring for Jim is part of who Leonard is. The idea of deliberately stranding him, any version of him, feels inherently wrong. But then again, so does the idea of meeting whatever twisted rendition of him this universe has produced, the one that could so casually order Spock to torture someone for an innocent mistake.

“Fine,” Leonard sighs. The Halkans are peaceful, even past the point of practicality. They won’t hurt Jim, and they might even be able to shelter him from the storm. It will have to be good enough. “You may as well see if you can’t sabotage the phasers too, Scotty. Something tells me it’ll be better for everyone if they’re not functional.”

“And I’ve got to get up to the bridge,” Nyota says. She looks none too thrilled about the prospect, but there’s a steely determination in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders. “I’ll be expected at my post soon, and it’ll be the best place for me to keep an eye on things. Here, give me your communicators.”

Leonard and Scotty pass them over, and she fiddles with them for a moment before handing them back.

“Those are keyed to a private frequency now, and set to scramble,” she tells them. “Any other communications might be monitored, but those should be safe.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about this universe,” Leonard volunteers, feeling a bit useless. He’s a smart man, he knows, but the science involved in their current predicament is just not in his wheelhouse, and he can’t accompany Nyota up to the bridge without looking suspicious. “And if either of you need anything, you comm me.”

Scotty and Nyota nod, but no one moves for a second. Then Nyota sets her jaw and touches a hand to Scotty’s shoulder, nudging him gently into motion. The two of them head for the door that will take them back out into a ship full of strangers and potential enemies, a lethal play that they can only guess the lines to. Fear for them curdles in Leonard’s gut, and he calls after them.

“Wait!”

They pause and look back, and he begins to fish through his desk drawers. Not much is where he left it in his own universe, and there are some additions that make his skin crawl, but he finds what he needs. He loads cartridges into the two hypos from his spare medkit and holds them out to his friends. They’ve all been trained in combat, and Leonard likes his odds in any fight where he’s got Nyota at his side, but he suspects that they’re woefully outclassed in this vicious reality. They need first strike capability.

“One hit from those will knock someone out in seconds,” he explains as they take the hypos. “It’ll be fastest if you get them in the neck, but anywhere should get the job done so long as it’s a solid hit. And for the love of God, make sure you stick them with the right end, or you’ll get a thumb full of sedatives and Lord knows where you’ll wake up.”

Scotty swallows hard as he gingerly tucks his hypo in his pocket. Nyota just looks at hers, and then down at her uniform, such as it is. Leonard sees the problem pretty quickly.

“Here,” he says, holding his hand out.

As she hands it over, Scotty heads for the door again, giving them both a nervous little wave and a smile that turns out more like a grimace. They both try to smile back, but Leonard, at least, doesn’t imagine he’s very successful.

“Turn around,” he tells Nyota once the door has closed behind Scotty.

When she does so, he carefully tucks the hypo down the back of her top, securing it handle-up under her bra strap. It’s hardly a perfect setup, but she’ll be able to reach it fast.

“Just try not to bend over too far,” he says, aiming for a light tone and probably missing.

Nyota snorts, tugging her long hair out of its ponytail and letting it fall down to cover the slight bulge in her uniform.

“Something tells me my posture will be as close to flawless as is humanly possible,” she says wryly. “You’re going to grab one of these for yourself, right?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.”

He says it carelessly, but they both know he’s not as confident as he pretends. But then again, she probably isn’t either. She’s about to head into the heart of this twisted world, alone and unprepared. She will be surrounded by cunning strangers, each with an agenda she can only guess at and expectations of her that she’s going to have to figure out on the fly. And the consequences of a mistake…

“Be careful,” Leonard implores quietly, his throat tight.

Nyota blinks, and then suddenly she’s pulling him into a hug. Leonard wraps his arms around her, careful of the hidden hypo, and holds her tight for a moment. Her slight frame feels so fragile, but he knows that there is steel at her core. She’s one of the strongest people he knows, and he hopes to borrow some of that strength, and to share whatever of his he can.

“I can handle this,” she murmurs in his ear, and her voice is firm, determined.

“I know you can.”

She pulls away and gives him a tiny smile, then turns for the door and is gone.

The door to the office hisses shut behind her, and Leonard feels suddenly more alone than he ever has in his life. He wraps an arm around himself instinctively, hand settling over the spot on his ribcage where his soulmark should be. He feels nothing, and he wonders if Jim is feeling the same, or something much worse. He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to find out.

*****

Jim’s heart races as he waits impatiently for the shuttle from the _Enterprise_ to arrive. He’s got a hand pressed almost unconsciously to his chest, a part of him still searching in desperation for his connection to his soulmate. But he finds nothing, just as he has for the past twenty minutes, ever since he watched Bones and their friends dissolve into golden columns of light. It’s not a passive, benign kind of nothing. It’s a nothing that speaks of something vital lost, a nothing that demands to be noticed. It’s a cold, sharp, devastating nothingness where his bond should be, and it terrifies him, despite the fact that the soulmarks he keeps checking are still as black as ever.

He grips his communicator tightly in his other hand, but resists the urge to call the _Enterprise_ again. It had been chaos when he called before in panic, and all he’d been able to ascertain was that Bones and the others had made it back to the ship, but that something was dreadfully wrong with them. A shuttle was dispatched to pick Jim up rather than have him risk the transporter as well, but it seems to be taking an eternity to arrive. But finally he sees it, the small ship darting through the dark clouds of the ion storm still raging overhead. Jim is running towards it before it even lands properly, and when he sees that it’s Sulu at the controls, he understands just how bad this storm must be.

“What happened?” he demands as he straps himself into the copilot’s seat.

“From what I understand, sir, there was a major power fluctuation caused by the ion storm at the exact moment the transport was happening. McCoy, Uhura, and Scotty all made it aboard, but apparently they…weren’t themselves. They started attacking the transporter room staff, and Spock had to do that nerve pinch thing. They were being transferred to the brig when I left. They’ll probably be coming around soon.”

The _brig_?

“Shouldn’t they have gone to medbay?”

“There wasn’t anything physically wrong with them, and Commander Spock seemed to think it would be safer to hold them in the brig.” Sulu looks apologetic as he says it.

Jim sits back in his seat, his hand going to his chest again. He trusts Spock’s judgement, especially since his soulmate is apparently in the same situation as Jim’s, but the thought of Bones in one of those cold, sterile white tanks like some kind of animal on display makes him shudder. So does the thought of what he could have done to make Spock put him there in the first place.

“It’ll be all right, sir.” Jim looks up in time to see the end of the sympathetic glance that Sulu shoots him to go with the words.

In truth, Jim has always felt a little sorry for his helmsman, who gets to see his soulmate so rarely. It’s a fate that Jim knows he could easily have shared, had Bones not gotten over his leeriness of space. But he thinks he envies Sulu a little in that moment, for having a soulmate, a family, safely settled in a civilian life. He can’t find the words to respond, but he gives Sulu a nod of thanks for the effort.

His fear and uncertainty make the short shuttle flight seem very long indeed, and when it’s over he takes off immediately for the brig. Spock is there when he arrives, gazing solemnly through the clear pane separating him from the interior of one of the cells. He turns as Jim enters, and his eyes are dark, his expression tense.

Jim looks past him to the people in the cell, and his heart stutters. Bones is lying on one of the stark white benches, his head pillowed on his arm and his nose scrunched up in that grumpy little crinkle he gets when he goes to sleep annoyed about something. He looks as beautiful and perfect as he always does, and the sight should make Jim’s chest warm and his soulbond thrum with contentment. But it doesn’t.

And then Jim looks at Bones’ right hand, which is dangling over the edge of the bench. His throat tightens. The mark on the back of that hand is black, not grey, and while he can’t make out the writing from this distance, he can tell that it doesn’t say what it should.

“Spock?” he asks in a whisper, his eyes still locked on the man in the cell.

“I cannot fully explain it, Captain,” Spock reports, his voice even but threaded through with suppressed concern. “The transporter experienced an unknown malfunction, and it appears to have delivered fundamentally altered versions of our crew. Their genetic code is the same, but I find it highly improbable that they are the same people. Their behavior upon arrival was extremely uncharacteristic, and as you have no doubt noticed, they no longer appear to be our soulmates.”

He says that last part as calmly as he’s said everything else, but his dark eyes are fixed on Uhura when Jim turns to look, and there is pain in their depths.

“Yeah, I did notice.” Jim clears his throat. “So what does that mean for them? You know, our them?”

“I do not know. If they have been exchanged with these people, from some kind of parallel reality such as the one in which my elder counterpart originated, there may be a way to exchange them back. But if they were altered into these versions…” His face sets, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. “Now that you are here to observe them, I shall return to the transporter room and endeavor to isolate the cause of the malfunction.”

Jim nods, and Spock turns to stride out of the brig. Jim returns his gaze to the people in the holding cell. Looking at Bones and feeling the choking emptiness in his chest is too much, so he watches Scotty and Uhura instead. Questions and concerns chase themselves around his head, multiplying by the second. And because that’s just the way of things, Bones starts coming around first, a few minutes into his watch. Jim’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

He watches cautiously as the doctor blinks his eyes open, tenses immediately, and then rolls to his feet to crouch in a defensive stance, reaching toward his belt for something that evidently isn’t there. He looks around warily, taking in the brig and the unconscious forms of his companions, before his eyes settle on Jim. His gaze is critical and assessing as it sweeps up and down Jim’s body, and something in it gets a little colder. He straightens and stalks toward the transparent barrier, and Jim has to fight the urge to take a step back.

This isn’t Bones. It never was. Even if the emptiness in his chest weren’t enough to convince him, that look would’ve done it. His Bones grumps and grouches and puts up a fierce exterior, but his eyes always give him away. They’re warm and full, always lit by that fond tenderness when they fix on Jim, even in the middle of a rant. But the eyes that are locked with his now are icy and hard, and they cut Jim like Bones never could.

“Who are you?” he asks, keeping his voice carefully level even as his fear and disquiet grow.

Not-Bones snorts, his lip curling derisively. It’s another unfamiliar expression on those beloved features.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of us with this little ruse,” he says, and _god_ it’s Bones’ beautiful voice but it’s all cold and _wrong_. “But I do know that you’re not going to be successful.” He draws ever closer to the glass and leans his arm against it, hand balled into a fist, glowering at Jim. “And I know you picked the wrong person to imitate. I hope you’ve always been curious about what your guts taste like, because when he finds you, he’s going to make you eat them.”

Jim barely hears the sinister words, because his attention is focused on the soulmark that he can now read on the back of Not-Bones’ hand: _I should’ve known. You’re one hell of a sore loser_. It’s Jim’s handwriting, but he doesn’t remember those words, knows he’s never said them to Bones after a near-death experience.

Not-Bones follows the direction of his gaze, and his eyebrows draw together as he stares down at the mark. His glare is fiercer than ever when he levels it at Jim again.

“What the hell is this?” he hisses, cradling his hand. “Is it supposed to be some kind of message to Kirk? Because if you took me to get leverage on him…” he laughs, and it’s a chilling sound. “Well, remind me to tell you sometime about what happened to the people of Magna Roma.”

Jim does his best to take a deep breath and collect himself, because they’re both very clearly on different pages here. He’s starting to become more convinced that he’s talking to someone from another universe, a wildly different universe. And much as it hurts to accept the idea that a version of Bones could be like this, it gives him hope that _his_ version is still out there somewhere.

“I don’t know what you think is going on,” he says slowly. “But the only reason you’re being held is that you were endangering my crew. No one is trying to get anything out of you, or use you for leverage, and you’re in no danger from anyone on this ship.”

The look he gets makes it clear that Not-Bones isn’t buying it. He sighs.

“My name is James T. Kirk.” Not-Bones’ scowl deepens, but Jim continues before he can protest. “I’m not saying I’m the one you obviously know. Just like you’re not the Dr. McCoy that I know. But if your world is even a little bit like this one, you must have confronted the possibility of alternate realities.”

While the suspicion remains clear in the other man’s eyes, he takes on a considering look. It’s something to work with.

“We’re in the middle of an ion storm,” Jim continues, taking a step toward the holding cell. “It’s been interfering with our instruments, our transporter. We think that may have had something to do with how you got here. Was there anything like that where you were?”

Not-Bones studies him in silence for a moment.

“And if there was?”

Jim sucks in a quick breath. If there was, then Bones and the others are most likely in that other universe, exchanged for these versions. Alive. Retrievable.

“Listen,” he says, taking another step toward the transparent barrier and the man behind it. “We’ll get you home, all three of you. We all want the same thing here. But I need you to cooperate with us.”

Not-Bones’ expression twists.

“I don’t know what things are like in this universe, _Captain_ ,” he sneers. “But in mine, we don’t cooperate with our captors.”

“And what _do_ you do?” Jim asks, fresh urgency jolting through him. If these are the people that came out of the world that his Bones, Scotty, and Uhura have been thrust into with no warning… “What are things like in your universe?”

Not-Bones clearly picks up on his worry. He crosses his arms over his chest, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

“Let’s just say that on our ship, we don’t throw intruders in the brig.”

Jim’s blood turns to ice.

*****

Before he can start his research into this bizarre world they’ve found themselves stranded in, Leonard knows that he must attend to the medbay awaiting him outside his office door. The memory of that injured crewman’s screams has been haunting him, and for as long as he’s acting CMO of this vessel, he won’t let that kind of mistreatment continue. So he makes sure his uniform is on correctly, braces himself, and strides out of the relative safety of his office.

Seeing to his medical duties turns out to be a tense, draining affair, full of skittish patients and suspicious nurses and the constant urge to look over his shoulder. All things considered, it’s a relief to be able to return to his office once he’s taken care of everyone. He sinks heavily into his chair and drops his head in his hands, closing his eyes. He’s already exhausted, worn thin by the constant tension and anxiety. If this goes on much longer, his nerves are going to start snapping one by one.

He finds himself reaching automatically for Jim, wanting nothing more than the steady comfort of his presence, a casual touch of reassurance. His heart squeezes painfully when he remembers that there’s nothing to find. His soulmate is further out of his reach than he’s ever been before, which is really fucking saying something considering that Jim has been literally dead twice now.

Leonard will never get used to this. Even if, God forbid, they’re stuck here permanently, he will never grow accustomed to this isolation, this unilateral separation from the other half of his soul. He will never stop searching for their bond within himself, never not ache to find it missing.

But he can’t dwell on that now. He needs to focus on doing what he can to get back to Jim, rather than worrying about what it’ll be like if he can’t. And right now, that means learning more about the universe he and his friends are currently trapped in.

He logs into his computer terminal, and begins a search on the Federation. It turns out to be a damn quick search, because there _is_ no Federation. So he begins to read about the Terran Empire. His heart grows heavier with each word.

Many people have questioned over the years why he joined Starfleet. His aviophobia, his wariness of space, his disdain of adventure; they’re all well-known. He’s made grumbling and complaining practically an art form, and he’s pretty sure there’s an active pool on how long it’ll take him to finally crack and plant his feet on the nearest planet and refuse to move. So when people ask him, he usually gives some variation on the answer of his messy divorce and being drunk when the recruiter found him.

But that’s never been the full truth. Yes, Jocelyn did make Earth pretty unappealing, and yes, Chris Pike was damned convincing when he wanted to be, but that alone wouldn’t have driven him to Starfleet. He could have avoided Jocelyn with a single move to any established Earth colony, and he was plenty stubborn enough to say no to Pike. But he chose a path that would let him take pride in his life. He joined Starfleet because he believed in its mission, believed in the quest for knowledge and the spread of peace. And while he may not have been planning on a career in actual space before he fell in love with a man destined for the stars, it wasn’t as big a step as it might have seemed for him to sign on for an extended mission. He could never forget the risks, but underneath his kvetching and doomsday predictions, he truly believed it all to be worth it.

But he has no idea what his counterpart is doing on this ship. Surely he can’t believe in this Empire. Surely there is no version of Leonard McCoy who could condone the horrors that he’s reading about. Mass genocide of peaceful races, subjugation of entire planets, bloody wars and widespread cruelty…it all seems to be commonplace for the Empire. And its Starfleet is the sword in its hand, the brutal instrument of its tyranny. As Nyota predicted, the ISS _Enterprise_ is not an exploratory vessel, but the crowning jewel of the Terran Empire’s fearsome military. Many of the locations in her mission logs are familiar to Leonard, but the reports of the actions taken couldn’t be more foreign. What kind of captain could lead such a vessel? Leonard can’t imagine a version of Jim that could perpetrate some of the atrocities that he’s reading about.

His communicator chimes just as he is about to begin a focused search on Jim, and he opens it to find a message from Nyota, evidently sent to both him and Scotty.

_Should be safe on bridge for now. Found information on current mission. Mining rights are to be secured from the Halkans. Refusal is to result in their immediate and total destruction._

Sickening as the news is, Leonard finds that he’s not surprised. Given the track record he’s reading about, the real surprise is that negotiations with the Halkans were even attempted before coming in guns blazing. A moment later, there’s a message from Scotty.

_Phasers temporarily disabled. Controls were under guard. Had to knock him out. How long before he’s causing trouble?_

Leonard grimaces at the message and sends a hurried reply.

**_About six hours. Drag him next to something hard and leave him there. I’ll have him brought up here for treatment of his “concussion”._ **

He shakes his head. If they get out of this, it’ll be a fucking miracle.

The three of them exchange a few more updates, but Nyota can’t type much at her post without risking suspicion, and Scotty is apparently hauling bodies through the hallways, so the conversation is pretty short. It’s therefore not long before Leonard must inevitably refocus on his research.

It’s with great reluctance that he pulls up the profile of the ISS _Enterprise’s_ current commander. The very first line hits him like a kick to the gut. _Captain James T. Kirk succeeded to command the ISS_ Enterprise _through the assassination of Captain Christopher Pike_. Jim loved Pike like a father, and his loss still weighs on him. But if that point is shocking, the next is utterly incomprehensible: _Second action, execution of 5,000 colonists on Vega 9._

Leonard shuts down the computer, feeling sick. If he’d needed any more proof that this universe is nothing like his own, that this Jim is an alien to him, he’s got it in spades. Nothing, no power in the universe, could make the Jim Kirk that Leonard knows and loves commit the kind of genocide that he barely escaped himself. He’d die a thousand times before he let it happen.

Leonard rests his face in his hands again, forcing himself to pull in long, slow breaths. He feels like the foundations of his very self are cracking, like the fundamental truths that he has relied on for so long have abandoned him, and he doesn’t know what that leaves him with.

Before he can sink too deeply into a mire of unanswerable questions though, he’s startled by the sound of a priority page. Evidently M’Benga needs him in the small medical lab attached to sickbay.

Leonard is almost afraid to enter when he gets there. He’s always loved his own lab, loved the quiet hours spent puzzling over problems, loved the subtle thrill of a breakthrough. He’s not sure how much more of his life he can bear to see the corrupted version of. He’s half expecting to find a vivisection in progress, or a bioweapon being developed.

But although everything seems to be out of place, nothing too horrifying jumps out at him as he walks through the door. M’Benga is standing beside one of the high-powered microscopes, and he nods a a greeting at Leonard.

“Something I thought you should see in that last round of cultures you were investigating,” he says. “You’re not gonna be happy about it.”

Well, that’ll make for a refreshing change. Leonard wonders what that’s like, not to be happy about something.

Since he can’t think of a way to tell M’Benga that he has no idea what experiment he’s supposed to have been running and will therefore get absolutely nothing out of looking at it under a microscope, he crosses the room and bends down to look through the oculars. He frowns. There’s nothing in the field of view.

“I just want you to know, I really do admire your talent.”

Instincts suddenly screaming at him, Leonard starts to turn, reaching for the hypo of sedatives in his pocket. But then he feels the sharp sting of another hypospray at his neck, the quick burn of drugs entering his system. He gasps and flinches away, clapping one hand over the injection site and brandishing his hypo with the other. But M’Benga has already backed several feet away, arms crossed over his chest.

“What the hell-?”

Leonard’s voice fails him as whatever drug he was injected with surges painfully through his veins, sapping his strength with alarming speed. His chest aches sharply, his heart stuttering, and breathing suddenly feels like trying to inhale water.

“It’s nothing personal,” M’Benga says, watching him dispassionately. “In fact, I even enjoyed working with you. But you know how it is. You’re a part of the old regime. It’s time to have new blood in charge.”

Leonard doesn’t bother trying to parse out exactly what that means. He backs away from his traitorous colleague, looking around wildly. He spots the metal cabinet that houses the lab’s emergency medkit, and he starts immediately in its direction. He makes it about two steps before his legs buckle beneath him and he crashes to the floor. His vision is starting to darken, his body growing heavier and heavier.

Fear is starting to break through his surprise as he realizes how utterly screwed he is. The only two people in this backward universe he trusts are too far away to get to him in time, and God knows how many members of his medical staff are in on this plot. If they’re all as ambitious and cutthroat as everyone else he’s encountered here, then even the ones who aren’t in on it probably won’t even think of coming to his aid if he shouts for help. In fact, they might come to help finish the job.

A spasm of pain tears through him as his systems begin to shut down.

Shit. _Shit_. It isn’t supposed to end like this. He’s accepted that space might be the death of him. That’s all right; that’s fine. But dying like this, murdered in the place of a man with whom he shares nothing but an appearance in some despicable power play…the injustice of it hurts almost as much as the poison flooding his body. But what hurts more than either is the knowledge of what this will do to Jim. So many people have left him, and Leonard vowed a long time ago to never be one of them.

The thought of his soulmate lends a fresh surge of determination and strength to Leonard’s failing body, and he begins to drag himself across the floor. His heart pounds in his ears and each labored breath rasps painfully through a constricting throat, but he ignores that and the aching weakness of his muscles.

“Please, Len,” he distantly hears M’Benga say. “It’ll be over in a minute. This is beneath you.”

Leonard ignores him too. The cabinet is just a few feet from where he fell, and he slides its door open with hands that are shaking nearly too hard to use. He stares for a moment, uncomprehending, at the empty shelf where the medkit should be. He blinks furiously a few times, hoping that the dark spots swarming across his vision are simply concealing the kit from him. But he knows it’s a vain hope. Of course M’Benga would have made sure that he can’t save himself.

His muscles finally give out and he slumps to the floor again, darkness enveloping him as his eyelids become too heavy to keep open. His fury and frustration subside, for he no longer has the energy to sustain them. All he can do is pray to whatever god is probably not listening that Jim won’t feel this, that the universes separating them will be enough to protect him from the hell of his soulmate’s death. Leonard thinks of Scotty and Nyota as well, stranded here, and he aches to know that he’s abandoning them too. But they’re strong, and brilliant, and resourceful, and they _will_ make it home. They have to.

Leonard feels himself beginning to drift, and he doesn’t fight against it this time. A part of him is briefly, selfishly _glad_ that he’s finally going first this time, that he’ll never again have to experience the loss of Jim. Dying doesn’t seem quite as bad from this side of things.

Agonized, gurgling screams reach him as if from a hundred miles away, and he distantly hopes they’re not his. He wants to go out with a little more dignity than that.

But his senses are starting to grow stronger now, not weaker, and there’s a new voice, one that most definitely doesn’t belong to any version of Geoffrey M’Benga.

“Wake up, Bones. You don’t get to leave me like this, not even if I have to drag you back from death myself. Leonard McCoy is not going down by something so mundane as an assassination.”

Leonard knows that voice, knows the arms that encircle him now and lift him slightly from the cold floor to cradle him against a warm chest. He relaxes into Jim’s hold, breaths beginning to come more easily, strength and control returning to his limbs. Still dazed, he opens his eyes.

He recoils in horror from the sight that greets him. M’Benga is sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood spreading in a slow halo around his head. His breath is coming in labored, burbling rasps that are growing steadily farther apart. His eyelids are closed, but blood is seeping from beneath them like crimson tears.

The arms supporting Leonard tighten their hold. They no longer feel quite so familiar.

“He said he gave you taldoxare, and that sidophan and malprozyc would reverse it,” a steady voice murmurs in his ear. “Was he leaving anything out?”

Leonard freezes, awareness of the situation finally settling in as the last of the fog clears from his brain. It’s not his lab he’s in, not his second in command bleeding out feet from him, not his soulmate who just saved his life and is holding him now.

Shit. He’d been so desperately hoping to avoid this encounter. Everything he’s read about this _Enterprise_ and her commander flashes through his head in an instant, and dread tightens in his gut.

“He wasn’t lying,” he says carefully, still staring at M’Benga. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“You should never have stopped being fine in the first place.” Whatever concern may have been in Kirk’s voice is gone now, replaced by disapproval tinged with anger. “You should know better than to let your guard down for a second, especially around the man who stands to inherit your position if you buy it.”

Christ. What a way to live.

Kirk hauls Leonard to his feet and lets him go. His legs wobble beneath him, but he knows better than to let them buckle. He has apparently shown too much weakness already, and he suspects that more will not be well received. He turns to face his rescuer, and his breath freezes in his chest.

It shouldn’t surprise him that this Jim looks exactly like his own, but somehow it’s still a shock. He’s got the same startlingly blue eyes, the same familiar, gorgeous features. He’s even wearing his hair in the same longer combed style that Jim decided to switch to a couple of months back. The only difference is in what he’s wearing; a sleeveless gold version of this ship’s service uniform. It’s streaked with blood, more of which drips from the knife thrust hastily through the loop on his belt. But Leonard’s eyes are drawn to the blood that’s on his face, trickling down from a misshapen nose.

“What happened?” he demands, reaching out automatically to take Kirk’s face in his hands.

He freezes again, worried that his instinct might have pushed him across some kind of boundary. He has no idea what kind of dynamic his counterpart has with this Kirk, and he doesn’t have the first idea how to act. Obviously Kirk cares enough about his McCoy to save his life, but does that translate into a free pass to touch him?

But Kirk doesn’t seem to find anything unusual about his forwardness. In fact, he turns his cheek slightly into Leonard’s touch.

“There seems to have been an attempted coup,” he explains as Leonard resumes his inspection of what appears to be a broken nose. “Chekov and a couple of his lackeys ambushed me in the turbolift. That little upstart has always been too ambitious for his own good. Anyway, it was clearly an orchestrated assassination attempt. A sloppy one, but Chekov isn’t a _complete_ idiot. He knew that anyone who took a shot at me would get a free vivisection from you the next day, so I figured his plans included an attack on you too. Of course, I expected to find you holding your own a little more effectively than you were.”

The disapproval is back in his tone, and it makes Leonard bristle.

“If Chekov can get close enough to you to break your nose, then my deputy can get close enough to me to stick a hypo in my neck,” he snaps.

He sets Kirk’s nose with a little more force than necessary, and turns to find a regen. Kirk grabs his wrists before he can use it. His grip is crushingly tight and eyes are hard and unreadable as he studies Leonard.

Leonard’s heart starts to race.

It feels so bizarre to fear this man. He’s been afraid of his feelings before, afraid of the effect that Jim has on him. But never once has he been afraid of Jim himself, of being deliberately hurt by him. He can be dangerous when he wants to be, when his ship is threatened or he is witnessing injustice, but that isn’t who he is. And the trust that Leonard has in him runs deeply, permanent and unshakeable. Not trust of his reason, sometimes; he’s more than happy to question that when he thinks Jim is making stupid choices. But he trusts Jim’s heart, his intentions. And to look into the face that he loves so dearly and find that trust gone, replaced by fear and uncertainty, feels utterly wrong. He tries to steel himself against it, for if he is going to survive this hard world, he clearly needs to get better at guarding himself. But then-

“I thought I’d gotten here too late,” Kirk says, and his tone is different from before. “When I saw you there on the ground, I thought that you were already dead.”

Something in his hard gaze cracks just a little to reveal just what that thought had done to him. Leonard is thrown all over again, more off-balance than ever. He’d thought he’d been starting to figure this place out, but nowhere in his understanding of this twisted universe did he factor in the capacity for genuine love. Is it possible that this Kirk and his McCoy have found something approximating it? The look on Kirk’s face just then suggests yes.

“I thought you wouldn’t let that happen,” Leonard manages eventually, because he has to say _something_. “Something about dragging me back from death itself?”

A dangerous smile touches Kirk’s lips.

“Not even death gets to take what’s mine,” he says.

He uses his hold on Leonard’s wrists to draw him in. He settles his hands possessively on Leonard’s hips, fingers gripping tight. Leonard forces himself to hold utterly still, to smother any kind of reaction that could betray him. His skin feels too tight, and his heart is pounding faster than ever.

“After all, I can’t let you show me up, can I?” Kirk asks, his voice lowering as he leans further into Leonard’s space. “You beat death for me, how would it look if I couldn’t do the same for you?”

He’s too close, much too close, but Leonard can’t pull away, can't put the space between them that he desperately wants because it will give him away.

“Your nose, Jim,” he protests. “If I don’t finish fixing it, neither of us is gonna be happy. You know I only keep you around for your looks.”

It’s a desperate gamble, and Leonard can’t help holding his breath once the words have left him. But then Kirk chuckles and leans back, although he still doesn’t relinquish his hold on Leonard’s hips.

“All right, Doctor,” he says. “Go ahead and make me pretty again.”

Leonard has practiced medicine in some pretty hairy situations, but this one might just top the list. But he ignores the terrifying scrutiny of Kirk’s gaze, the imagined burn of Kirk’s touch through the fabric of his uniform, and his steady hands don’t fail him as he finishes patching up this beautiful stranger as slowly as he thinks he can get away with.

But it just doesn’t take that long to fix a broken nose, and eventually Kirk plucks the tricorder from his hands and tosses it aside. Left suddenly defenseless, Leonard stills. He can’t quite control the flush that creeps up his neck, and Kirk’s eyes gleam as they settle on it. And then suddenly his mouth is on Leonard’s throat, hot against his skin, and Leonard doesn’t know what to do with his hands, what to do with _anything_. He may be a lot of things, but unfaithful has never been one of them, and the idea of where this is heading goes against every fiber of his being. The scent in his nose, the lips on his skin, the body pressed to his, they’re all so familiar, but the _feeling_ is wrong, and his mind races as he tries to think a way out of this that doesn’t involve putting himself and his friends at greater risk.

He feels Kirk’s teeth sink into the spot on his neck already tender from M’Benga’s hypo, and he can’t suppress the soft cry of surprise and pain that escapes him. Kirk finally pulls back. He’s smiling though, a sharp, satisfied smirk.

“No one gets to mark you but me,” he says, the possessive words still somehow oddly gentle as he brushes his fingers over what Leonard can only assume is the impression of his teeth.

Leonard shudders, and Kirk must read it as a shiver of anticipation because his gaze becomes predatory. He curls his hand around the back of Leonard’s neck and draws him in.

The discordantly cheerful chirp of a communicator startles Leonard so badly that he all but wrenches free of Kirk’s grip. He can feel that piercing gaze on him as he pulls the small device from his belt, but he resolutely ignores it, fighting to get himself under control as he checks the message. It’s from Scotty.

_Need you in engineering. Think I can get us home._

Leonard stares at the second sentence for a beat too long, feeling his knees go rubbery again. Then he snaps the communicator shut and braces himself internally before looking up to meet Kirk’s gaze again.

“Duty calls,” he says, faking a confidence that he doesn’t feel. He extracts himself the rest of the way from Kirk’s hold.

Kirk lets him go without question, but his intent gaze doesn’t let up.

“Watch your back,” he says, and it’s an order and a warning combined.

Leonard just nods and heads for the door as fast as he can without looking like he’s fleeing. His legs are still a little unsteady beneath him, but they hold. But then the door to medbay opens before him, and he stops dead.

Well, he’s apparently got an answer about who from his staff was in on the plot to kill him. The bodies of three nurses and an ensign from security are crumpled around the entrance to the lab, their blood mixing in a pool of human red and Myrkeshi blue that seems to stretch on forever, stark against the white floor.

“Oh yeah, sorry about the mess!” Kirk calls cheerfully from behind him. “They apparently thought four would be enough to stop me from getting to you.”

Leonard stares at the bodies for a heartbeat, another. But then he closes his eyes. He can’t care about this right now. This is not his world, these are not his murdered friends. And the friends he does have are counting on him.

So he straightens his spine, squares his shoulders, and marches out of medbay without another glance at the dead. His stomach roils as his feet slide and stick in the blood on the floor, but he swallows down his nausea and keeps going, because if he stops he’s not sure he’ll be able to move again. He keeps going until he’s out of medbay, until he’s striding through the hallways and forcing himself to return the grim salutes that are tossed his way, until he’s standing mercifully alone in a turbolift for the trip down to Engineering.

His communicator chirps again. The message is from Nyota this time.

_Kirk back onboard. Be careful._

**_I’d noticed_** , Leonard replies grimly. **_I’m fine._**

That’s a goddamn lie, but it’s not as if Nyota can help him. She’s in the same situation, perhaps even one that’s worse. The Spock of this universe could be back on the bridge by now, and if being around him is for her anything like being around Kirk is for Leonard, then she’ll appreciate him focusing on helping Scotty with whatever his plan is for getting them home.

The turbolift arrives in Engineering, and Scotty is waiting for him when the doors open. Leonard is surprised by the strength of the relief that rushes through him at the sight of the friendly face, and if Scotty’s smile is anything to go by, he feels the same way. But it vanishes almost instantly as Scotty actually looks at him.

“Are you all right?” he asks, alarmed, waving his hands over Leonard’s shirt like he wants to touch but has no idea what to actually do if he did. “You’re bleeding.”

Leonard looks down, and sees that his blue shirt is indeed smeared with dark spots of blood. It must have come from Kirk’s hands, his clothes. He swallows hard and does his best to wave away his friend’s concerns.

“Actually, the other guys were bleeding,” he says grimly. “And they’re not all right, but I am.”

“What happened?”

The mark on his neck, mostly covered now by his collar, prickles with the memory of the sting of the hypospray and everything that followed. But Leonard has boxed the entire experience away for now, because dealing with it is going to take time and energy that he can’t spare, and he can’t face Scotty’s questions just yet, can’t tell the story to an audience that he knows will be even more horrified than he is.

“You said you think you can get us home?” he prompts instead.

Scotty blinks at him for a moment, but then nods.

“Aye,” he says. “I figured out exactly what went wrong with the transporters, and I think I can recreate it artificially using power from the warp drive.”

“You’re gonna warp us home?” Leonard asks skeptically.

“No, no, I’m gonna beam us home the same way we were beamed here, by creating a surge of power to the transporter that’ll bridge the gap between our universe and this one and switch us back with our creepy doppelgängers.”

Leonard is still a little skeptical and a lot worried, but Scotty appears reassuringly confident. Of course, with Scotty, that doesn’t always mean that everyone _else_ should also feel confident.

“So what do you need me to do?” he asks.

“Be my new assistant engineer.”

Great.

“Scotty, you do know that the last time an engineer asked for my help, I almost got us both blown to pieces?”

“I did hear something about that, aye.” Scotty doesn’t appear remotely concerned enough about this fact. “I knew those torpedoes were trouble, but did your smug little perfect-haired boyfriend listen to me? Of course not! Why would he? Not as if I was his Chief Engineer, or anything!”

Leonard raises an eyebrow, and Scotty clears his throat.

“Anyway, that’s not going to happen again. I’m sure you learned something from it.”

“Yeah, I learned that I’m a doctor, not an engineer.”

“Well, now you’re an engineer. We’re working under a pretty hard deadline, as far as I can tell - the field density between this universe and ours is increasing fast, and if we don’t get out of here within the next few hours, we never will. I cannae do all that needs done by myself, so here.”

Scotty hands Leonard a padd of what look like technical specs for the transporter circuits, a little device that appears to shoot laser beams, and a wrench. Leonard looks at them dubiously, and then back up at Scotty, who immediately exchanges his matching dubious expression for another look of confidence that convinces approximately neither of them.

“Okay,” they say together. Their tones are very different.

*****

The silence weighs heavily on Jim as he stares at the viewscreen in his ready room, waiting for it to light up with a call. That sick, hollow feeling is still eating at him, and it is joined by the fear that’s been steadily growing within him ever since he spoke to the grim shadow of his soulmate. McCoy remained suspicious of him and refused to say anything helpful, and when Uhura and Scotty woke up, they were just as bad. Worse, in a way, because they made Jim realize that McCoy isn’t some kind of anomaly, that everyone from their reality is just as hard and fierce. Jim has never felt quite so helpless as he does now, having caught a glimpse of the world that his soulmate and two of his closest friends are trapped in alone.

He knows he’s not the only one suffering. He glances to his side. Spock is standing severely straight, motionless save for the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, his gaze fixed on the viewscreen. Jim knows personally just how useless it would be to ask him if he’s all right. The Vulcan might be good at containing his emotions, but he sure as hell still has them. And if he’s experiencing the same emotions that Jim is just then, “all right” is not going to be a descriptor that applies to him. But this silence isn't helping either of them.

“Spock?”

His friend doesn't look at him or ask for clarification. He simply tilts his head up slightly, his silence taking on a considering air.

“Did you know that Vulcans do not have soulmarks, Captain?” he asks after a moment.

Jim blinks, mind flashing through everything he’s learned about Vulcans over the years. Most of it is from after he took command of the _Enterprise_ , after he knew that Spock and Uhura were soulmates. Perhaps that knowledge has shaped his memory, his perceptions of the alien culture.

“No, Spock, I’m not sure I did,” he says.

“Indeed. It is not a question of the soul’s existence - the Vulcan soul is a powerful thing, and is an integral aspect of Vulcan identity. And Vulcan souls can be bound just as closely as those of human soulmates; more closely, in some cases. However, that bonding is not predetermined by soulmarks, nor have any interpersonal relationships ever been defined by birthmarks of any kind. My mother had no soulmark, and as I was also born without one, I believe that she refrained from discussing them with me so as not to make me feel as though I were…missing something.”

Spock’s fingers curl over his bicep in an almost absent gesture.

“She was well-intentioned, but the result of her sensitivity was that when my mark appeared, I was…alarmed. I thought that it was an indication of something- wrong with me. I investigated my condition, and when I discovered what it was, I-” Spock breaks off, and his grip on his arm tightens.

Jim thinks he can guess at the words that Spock can’t quite force out. He imagines a much younger Spock, five or six years old, already feeling isolated from his peers, finding out that he had one more difference, one more thing that made him a freak, in his eyes at least.

“You were ashamed, because you thought it made you too human,” he says gently.

Spock nods once, stiff.

“I concealed the mark for quite some time,” he says, and Jim knows what that’s like, at least. “But one day, my mother caught a glimpse of it.” He pauses again, memory clouding his eyes. “She wept. She was so full of joy for me, joy that I could not understand. But I still resented my mark often, for years.” Another pause. “I find that I am regretting that resentment more now than I ever have.”

Jim’s breath catches a little in his chest. Spock’s tone hasn’t changed; it’s still that calm, even delivery of information. But it’s clear that a part of him is considering the very real possibility that he will never get Uhura back. He’s probably calculated the exact odds, thought through every way this could end. But Jim doesn’t want to. He can’t, not if he intends to keep functioning.

“Has Uhura told you anything about how Bones and I got together?”

Spock raises an eyebrow.

“I assure you, Captain, Nyota and I spend very little time discussing your relationship with Dr. McCoy.”

Jim can’t help smiling a little, despite everything. He opens his mouth to begin sharing his own saga of soulmate woe, hoping to simultaneously make Spock feel better and distract them both, when the voice of the on duty communications officer informs him that the transmission they’ve been waiting for is finally available. A moment later, the viewscreen flickers to life and resolves itself into the image of a familiar face.

“Ambassador Spock,” Jim says, an automatic twinge of relief warming him. There’s just something inherently comforting about the elderly Vulcan, both because of who he is and what he represents. Although now that Jim is looking, he seems rather older and more frail than he remembered.

“Captain Kirk,” the ambassador greets warmly. His eyes settle on the man at Jim’s side. “Mr. Spock.”

Spock inclines his head. That’s enough of the niceties for Jim.

“We’re sorry to have to do this, Ambassador, but we wouldn’t if we didn’t think it was urgent.”

The small smile that Spock had been giving them fades a little, as if in anticipation of being forced to deliver an unwanted denial.

“You know that I’ve sworn not to divulge any information regarding my past that could affect your future,” he says, gentle but firm. “They are not one and the same, and should not be regarded as such.”

“We understand that, sir,” Jim replies. “We do. But you’ve made exceptions before, when it really mattered. And it _really matters_ now.”

Ambassador Spock is silent for a moment, surveying them. His eyes seem suddenly ancient.

“Tell me what has transpired.”

When Jim explains, his eyebrows go up but his expression seems even more solemn somehow.

“You tried to send them up to the ship without you?” he asks Jim.

“I wanted some more time with the Halkans.” The words are bitter in his mouth. He’s always been so eager to prove himself, to feel like he’s actually _doing_ something out here. The negotiations with the strictly principled Halkans had been going absolutely nowhere and he knew it, but he’d still tried to eek out a few more minutes with them in the vain hope of securing a deal, another triumph for his record. And all he’d succeeded in doing was abandoning the people he loves.

“I see.”

Something about the way he says it makes Jim’s stomach drop.

“Did any of this happen in your reality?” he asks.

The ambassador doesn’t answer right away. His gaze has lost its focus, and Jim recognizes the look of someone absorbed in an old memory. He does his best not to snap impatiently.

“We called it the mirror universe,” Spock says finally, and his tone has taken on a distant quality. “A dark inversion of our own reality, cruel and savage. I did not witness it myself, but I’ll never forget the people who came from it. They wore the faces of friends, but their hearts were cold and wild, their minds harsh and conniving.”

Yeah, Jim doesn’t have to be told what that’s like.

“But you got them switched back,” he surmises with a fresh surge of relief that turns out to be quite short-lived.

“We did, Captain. However, don’t let that give you false reassurance. The situation that your crew is facing is already different from the one that mine encountered.”

“Different how?”

“I will not say.” There is too much empathy and regret in the ambassador’s voice for Jim to get angry at him, despite his mounting fear and frustration. “However, it doesn’t affect the feasibility of a return exchange. Take heart in that.”

But Jim’s heart isn’t even in this universe at the moment, and the ambassador looks worried.

“Can’t you tell us anything about how to get them back?” he pleads.

“I’m sorry, Jim, but I cannot. If there’s anything that you can do to help them, then it is something that I was not able to do for my own crew. I’m afraid that all I can offer you is hope.”

Not nearly enough of it. But an intuition developed over years of working with his Spock is telling Jim that further questions will be useless. They’ll have to muddle through this on their own.

“Thank you for your time, Ambassador,” Jim says, reaching to shut off the connection.

“Captain.”

Jim pauses, gives the older Vulcan an inquiring look. Spock looks wearier than Jim has ever seen him, including right after he watched his planet implode.

“If your crew returns, it would be advisable to pay special heed to assessing their conditions, particularly that of Dr. McCoy.” Jim’s mouth goes dry. “If he’s as like my old friend as I suspect, then he has a tendency to downplay his own hurts when they most warrant attention.”

“What do you mean?”

“Physical assault is not the worst thing that an individual can face. Mental scars can last far longer, particularly when they’re not addressed. Don’t let them go unaddressed, as I unknowingly did for far too long.”

His gaze flickers to his younger counterpart, who evidently gets more than Jim does. Spock’s expression tightens, his already pale skin losing another shade of color.

“I believe I understand,” he says, and Jim can’t make sense of his tone.

“That makes one of us,” he snaps. “What the hell is happening to Bones?”

“Perhaps nothing,” the ambassador sighs. “I do not wish to alarm you with specifics that may not come to pass. I’m sorry that I am unable to provide you with a better answer. But I will say this: if there is one thing that I have learned over the course of my journey, it is that the faith I had in my crew - my friends - was not misplaced.”

His gaze shifts to Spock again as he says this, and they watch each other silently for a moment. Frenetic energy is still tingling beneath Jim’s skin, jolting his heart, but he forces himself to take a breath, to settle himself as best he can. And when the ambassador looks at him again, he’s able to give him a small smile.

“Thank you,” he says again, and he means it.

Ambassador Spock raises a hand in the now-familiar gesture of the ta’al.

“Live long and prosper,” he says solemnly.

“Peace and long life,” Jim replies, returning the gesture.

A soft smile tugs at the ambassador’s mouth.

“I’ve already had the latter,” he says. “And I think that someday soon I will finally get the former. Goodbye, Jim. Mr. Spock.”

The ambassador’s image vanishes as the call ends. Jim stares at the blank viewscreen for a moment, a thousand thoughts warring in his brain. The one that keeps making its way to the forefront is also one of the most painful.

“I was supposed to be there with them.”

He feels Spock’s gaze land on him, but before either of them can say anything, the door to the ready room slides open. Chekov is standing on the other side, eyes wide, wearing an expression that sends Jim’s heart plummeting to his boots.

“The- the prisoners have escaped the brig, sir.”


	4. Universal Constants Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another general warning for mirror-related dubious consent, but once again, there is no rape or sexual assault.

It turns out that Leonard isn’t as hopeless as he’d feared at being an engineering assistant. Scotty mostly just needs him to hold things while he does all of the technical work, and this time Leonard’s steady hands don’t get him caught in an explosive device of any kind. And the two of them work well together for the most part, except for an incident when Leonard comments that a set of wires Scotty just finished working on looks a little catawampus and he is told in return not to teach his granny how to suck eggs and the two of them have to stare at each other in blank silence for a moment before resuming their tasks.

Working with Scotty, it’s almost possible to forget _why_ they’re working. Until it isn’t.

Leonard straightens up from a crouch and turns to Scotty for his next set of instructions, only to find his friend staring at his neck. Leonard’s face heats and his skin crawls as he remembers the mark there, and he instinctively raises a hand to cover the impression of Kirk’s teeth, even though his collar has shifted back to mostly hide it from view again.

“Someone tried to kill me,” he says shortly, even though it’s hardly the complete explanation of the mark. “On this ship, it was probably inevitable. Don’t worry about it.”

Scotty has to sputter for a moment before actual coherent words come out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it?” he repeats incredulously. “It looks like someone tried to take out your throat with their bloody _teeth_!”

“It was a hypospray full of poison, actually, and the antidote was on hand.” Scotty blanches, and Leonard sighs. “Just leave it, Scotty. Please.”

Scotty looks far from happy about it, but he refocuses on the transporter circuits without another word. Leonard assists him in silence for a few more minutes, but the work isn’t quite as distracting this time.

“They got Kirk back on board,” he says eventually, the words spilling from him without him really giving them leave to.

There’s a clatter as Scotty drops a wrench. He curses and dives after it, and when he comes back up, his face is white and his eyes are wide.

“He’s not- I mean surely he didn’t-”

“He’s not the one who tried to kill me,” Leonard tells him. “In fact, he’s the reason I’m still alive.”

Scotty just watches him for a moment.

“Are you all-” he breaks off, grimacing. “No, of course you’re not.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Blimey.”

“It’s fine,” Leonard tries to dismiss. Scotty gives him an unimpressed look.

“What-” Scotty pauses, looking afraid of his own question. “What’s he like?”

Leonard is silent for a moment. He remembers the urgent murmur of Kirk’s voice in his ear, guiding him back from the brink. He remembers the honest, vulnerable concern in Kirk’s eyes when he admitted to thinking he’d been too late to save Leonard. He remembers the tears of blood seeping from M’Benga’s ruined eyes. He remembers the bodies he had to step over to get out of medbay. He remembers the brutal resume he’d read on the computer.

“You’ve seen a little of what this world is like,” he says eventually. “Imagine someone as brilliant and ambitious and cocky as our Jim, without the morals that make him a good man as well as a great one.”

Scotty shivers. Leonard appreciates the sentiment.

“Does he suspect you?” Scotty asks.

“I don’t think so.” Leonard grimaces. “I don’t know.”

It shouldn’t frustrate him as much as it does. There shouldn’t be any shame in being unable to read someone who is a stranger to him.

“I’m worried though,” he confesses. “They may not have soulmates in this universe, but he and my counterpart still seem to be involved. Apparently that puts a target on my back. So either I slip up and get killed by Kirk for not being who I claim, or I get killed by someone else because they buy my act.”

“We won’t let that happen.” The fierceness of Scotty’s tone startles Leonard. He looks over at his friend, and there’s something wrenching about his expression.

“Are _you_ all right?” he asks, angry with himself for not checking earlier.

Scotty’s expression flickers alarmingly, but then he just swallows and nods. It’s a brave face that Leonard isn’t buying for a minute.

“Scotty.”

Scotty doesn’t look at him, just goes back to tinkering with the computer systems. But after a moment, he speaks quietly.

“She’s been gone for fifteen years.”

Leonard frowns, but only has to think for a second before he realizes what must be on Scotty’s mind. He glances at Scotty’s shoulder, remembering the blank skin he’d seen there earlier.

“Your soulmate. Amelia?”

Scotty nods, and Leonard’s heart twists. Ever since he first lost Jim, he’s had a new appreciation for Scotty. He’s always had such a cheerful spirit, open and relentlessly friendly - until his ship is criticized, of course, but that’s another matter. It’s too easy sometimes, to forget how much pain he must still be in.

“The first time we met, she put me in the hospital.” Scotty is still focused on his work, but there’s a tiny, wistful smile playing around the corners of his mouth now.

“Yeah?” Leonard’s not sure where this is going, but he’s more than willing to listen.

“Aye. Seventeen years old I was, and minding my own business, thank you very much. I’m out in Calverny field, looking for my sister’s manky old pet cat, when I hear this voice shouting at me. ‘Watch out!’ she says. ‘You’re in the way, you numptie!’” Scotty’s smile widens as he shares the memory. “Of course, I didn’t get out of the way, because I’d just heard the words I’d been listening for my whole life, and I was right startled, as you might well imagine. I turn around, and there she is, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I didn’t even notice she was riding a modified speeder until she crashed right into me with it.”

Leonard winces, but he’s smiling a little now too.

“I woke up in the hospital the next day, and I was afraid she’d been a dream. Tried to walk right out of the emergency ward to go looking for her, but she beat me to it. She showed up with a smuggled bottle of scotch and a holoprojector loaded with vids, and she just looked at me for what felt like hours. Then she says to me ‘you didn’t get out of the way.’ Now, I wasn’t good for much else besides staring just then, and when I realized it was my turn to talk, my first words to her, you know, I sort of panicked.”

“How bad?” Leonard asks. In this area, he can more than empathize.

“I didn’t realize falling for you was gonna be quite so literal.”

They both laugh. Scotty’s eyes are shining too brightly again, but his smile doesn’t fade.

“She just looks at me some more, and we’re both pretending that my monitors aren’t beeping up a storm on account of how my heart’s beating so fast I’m afraid it’ll up and quit on me. And then she just says ‘I suppose I can give you a pass just this once, but I hope you’re usually smart enough to get out of the way when you see a madwoman on a speeder coming right at you.’

“And I look back at her, and I say ‘sorry, but if you’re that madwoman, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out of your way.’ And then she smiled, and I knew that was it.”

Leonard knows the feeling. Granted, it took a lot more than a speeder crash to get him there, but still.

“Turned out the speeder she hit me with was something she’d made herself. She loved engineering as much as I did, and she had this- this _wildness_ in her heart that made her crave freedom, speed. The way she’d laugh, when she really got going…well, I might have been scared stupid, but that sound made it all worth it. And I could _feel_ it, what she felt, and there was nothing like it.”

Scotty wipes at his eyes, and Leonard’s throat tightens. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“She was the one who convinced me to join Starfleet,” Scotty goes on after a moment. He passes Leonard a tool and directs him to pick two wires out of a bundle. “She was always looking for the next challenge, and she loved building things. She wanted to create the fastest ship in the galaxy.”

“She sounds incredible, Scotty,” Leonard says softly.

“Aye. She was everything.” Scotty glances up. “But I don’t have to tell you what that’s like, do I?”

“No.”

“She died the week before we were supposed to go to the Academy together.”

Leonard winces again, but Scotty keeps working.

“Almost killed me, but I don’t have to tell you what that was like either.”

No, he doesn’t. Leonard will never, _never_ forget what it’s like to have his soul rent apart. And he’ll never stop doing whatever it takes to keep it from happening again.

“You still joined the Fleet.”

“Aye. Not that semester, but the next. At first it was because I knew it was what she’d have wanted. It’s what got me through that god-awful posting on Delta Vega. But when I got to the _Enterprise_ …I don’t know, it made me feel closer to her than I had since I lost her. I know how much she would’ve loved the ship. I think it’s the first time _I’ve_ been properly happy, after her.”

Leonard thinks he understands a little better now, the devotion Scotty has always shown the _Enterprise_.

“And now the last two connections I had with her are gone.” Scotty touches a hand to his shoulder. “My ship and my soulmark.”

“We’ll get them both back, Scotty,” Leonard vows. “You’ll get us home.”

“Aye, well, that’s the plan.” Scotty taps a wrench on the console they’ve been working on. “We’re actually just about done, but now comes the tricky part.”

“The tricky part? What the hell have we _been_ doing, if it’s not the tricky part?”

“I’ve got to program the transporter computer now, and the way this ship’s systems are set up, my changes are going to send up a red flag to the monitoring system that dear Security Chief Sulu has set up. If he spots that and raises an alarm before we have the chance to get out of here, that’s the game.”

“Okay. And you’re ready to do that programming now?”

“Aye.”

“Right.” Leonard takes a breath. “I’ll head up to the bridge. Between the two of us, Uhura and I should be able to figure something out. We’ll comm you when it’s safe.”

His mouth twists a little. _Safe_. He doesn’t think that bridge will ever be safe, and he’s never been less eager to go somewhere in his life, but he’s not about to shove this off on Nyota to deal with alone. So he claps Scotty on the shoulder and leaves Engineering to stride to the nearest turbolift. The doors close on him with a hiss that sounds impossibly sinister, and Leonard has to clear his throat a few times before he can force out the command for a destination.

“Bridge.”

*****

“How the hell did they get out of the brig?” Jim demands, striding out onto the bridge. There’s a quiet kind of chaos out here, with everyone scrambling to regain control over the situation.

“The prisoners may not have the personalities with which we are familiar, but they clearly possess the same intellect as their counterparts,” Spock says grimly. “We placed ruthless and unscrupulous versions of three of Starfleet’s brightest officers in the same cell. We should have foreseen such an outcome.”

Of course they should have. They’ve been thinking of their prisoners as strangers, but they’re not. Scotty knows the ship down to the last bolt, Uhura is brilliant and cunning, and Bones knows every single one of the body’s weak points. Strip away the morals that keep them from using those abilities maliciously, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a prison break team.

“Can we locate them?” Jim asks, because self-recrimination is going to have to wait.

“They are not registering on the computer, sir,” says Chekov. “It is likely that Mr. Scott hacked the system.”

_Shit._

“Put us on yellow alert and inform all crew to be on the lookout for McCoy, Scotty, and Uhura,” Jim orders. “But unless they’re security personnel, they _are not to engage_ , only to report the location. I want security in teams of three sweeping every part of this ship. We don’t know whether or not they’ve split up, so everyone should be prepared for multiple adversaries. Deadly force is _not_ authorized.”

Jim pauses, swallows. He thinks about those cold hazel eyes piercing him through the clear barrier of the brig cell. The visitors from that dark universe are angry and scared and suspicious of everything. There’s no telling what they’ll do with free reign of the ship. And if they hurt anyone, Jim knows he won’t be the only one with crushing guilt.

“Unless _absolutely_ necessary for self-defense,” he amends, throat tight. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Aye, sir.”

Someone presses a phaser into Jim’s hand, and he looks down at it, inexplicably thrown. The thought of using it, of pointing it at someone who looks like Bones, or Uhura, or Scotty, and pulling the trigger, is inherently incomprehensible. But he switches it to stun and adjusts his grip, looking grimly up at a now similarly-armed Spock.

“Sulu,” Jim says, and his voice is quieter now. He turns to the helmsman and holds his gaze. “Be ready.”

 _Be ready to take command in case your captain and first officer become more compromised than they already are_.

Sulu’s mouth thins into a solemn line but he nods, steady and confident. Capable. He’ll be fine. Jim wishes he could be sure of the same for himself.

*****

Leonard steels himself as the turbolift doors slide open, and he forces his reluctant feet to carry him onto the bridge.

Structurally, the room is quite similar to the one Leonard has visited a hundred times on his _Enterprise_. There is the captain’s chair, facing the large viewscreen set in the forward bulkhead; there are the science, communications, and engineering stations exactly where they should be. The tactical consoles are a bit larger, and that grim crest is painted on the walls, but everything else appears the same. But the people are strangers to him, even the ones that have familiar faces.

He feels half a dozen wary and assessing gazes land on him, but he stiffens his spine and ignores them all, striding to the captain’s chair. The bite on his neck seems to burn as Kirk turns to cock an inquiring eyebrow at him.

“I need to see Lieutenant Uhura,” he says, projecting a confidence he wishes he felt more of. He’s gambling on the fact that even in this twisted world, Leonard McCoy doesn’t ask for permission when it comes to his medical expertise. “I’m investigating any residual effects of our transport.”

Kirk eyes him for a moment. Leonard holds his gaze, unwavering. Kirk glances at Nyota and jerks his head. She stands at once, pulling out her earpiece and setting it at her station.

“Use my ready room,” Kirk says. “Uhura’s been away from her post long enough for one day.”

Leonard doesn’t bother arguing. He just grabs the bridge’s emergency medkit for show and heads for the ready room, Nyota right behind him. He can feel Spock’s gaze on them both, but he carefully avoids meeting it.

The ready room door finally closes behind them, and the change that comes over Nyota is instantaneous. The stiff set of her shoulders slumps in a show of the strain and weariness that have been wearing on them all, and she lets out a heavy breath of air. She touches a hand to Leonard’s arm, hanging onto him. He understands the sentiment behind the gesture, the need to remember friends in this world of enemies.

“How are you holding up?” he asks her.

“I’m fine. But I’m really hoping you’re here to tell me that you and Scotty have worked out that way home.”

“We’ve got it,” Leonard assures her, wishing he could feel more relieved about it. “But we’re not in the home stretch just yet.”

He explains to her the plan, and the need to distract Sulu from his console.

“I wanted to tell you in person, in case you need my help.”

“Actually, I’ve got something in mind already that I can pull off on my own,” Nyota says, and there’s something of a mischievous spark in her eyes. But she sobers quickly. “But we’ve got a new problem.”

“Of course we do.”

“Kirk just commed Scotty and told him in no uncertain terms what he would do to him if the phasers aren’t functional within the next twenty minutes. He’s going to massacre the Halkans, Len.” Nyota says the words reluctantly, clearly understanding their weight.

Leonard doesn’t say anything for a moment. His hands clench and unclench absently.

“Even if we manage to stall until we leave, Kirk’s going to kill them all the moment our counterparts get back,” he muses aloud.

Nyota doesn’t argue with him.

“I’ve been trying to think of ways to disable the ship or protect the Halkans,” she says. “But there’s nothing that seems permanent enough to do any good.”

“Nothing that _we_ can do,” Leonard agrees grimly. He closes his eyes, thinks of the Halkans that he remembers from their universe. A people so peaceful, so principled, that they would do anything to keep power out of the hands of those who might have even the slightest chance of abusing it. “But Kirk can do plenty.”

He opens his eyes again to find Nyota looking at him sharply.

“What are you thinking?” she asks him.

“I’m thinking that if anyone on this ship has any kind of influence on Kirk, it’s me,” Leonard sighs, already starting to prepare himself internally. “And I’m thinking that I’m going to have to try and use it.”

He has to look away from the overwhelming empathy and regret that fill Nyota’s dark eyes. He realizes that he’s gripping his left forearm, the site of his first soulmark, the one he misses most. He takes a breath through his nose, lets it out again.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asks, searching for the familiar ground of taking care of others. “Spock hasn’t…” he isn’t quite sure how to describe an incident like the one that transpired between him and Kirk. He waves a vague hand. “You know…?”

She clearly does know, and for some reason, the question makes her laugh. It’s a short, humorless chuckle, but it still earns her a confused look from Leonard.

“No, he hasn’t,” she says, and her hand drifts absently to her unmarked abdomen. “And he’s not likely to, considering the fact that he and my counterpart have never been together.”

 _Oh_.

“Oh.” Leonard doesn’t know what else to say. “I’m not sure which of us has it worse.”

“I’d say you, just in general.” The teasing smile on Nyota’s face is real this time, even if it is small and a little fragile. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about the situation with Spock, and Leonard is more than happy to avoid another emotional conversation.

Of course, that means there’s nothing left standing between him and having to convince Kirk not to commit genocide. He eyes the door to the bridge, nervous adrenaline prickling through him.

“So, are we doing your plan first, or mine?” he asks Nyota.

“Yours. I have a feeling you’re not going to want to stick around afterwards.”

Well, that’s true, but he also doesn’t want to leave her if she’s going to be doing something dangerous. She evidently sees his concern, and waves it off.

“I’ve got my end handled,” she says. “Shift ends in half an hour, so I’ll probably have to stay here until then to avoid suspicion, but that’ll still give us plenty of time to make Scotty’s window.”

“Right.” Leonard glances at the door again. “Can you get me into Kirk’s personal logs? I’m flying a little blind here, and I could use a sense of what’s normal for him and my…whatever.”

Nyota logs him into Kirk’s computer and accesses the audio recordings, the insight into the personal life of this _Enterprise’s_ ruthless captain. She tries to retreat to a discreet distance in order to give him some privacy, but he catches her by the wrist and looks at her with a silent plea. He doesn’t want to do this alone. She nods, and settles onto the edge of Kirk’s desk.

Leonard steels himself and pushes _play_.

*****

Despite the abundance of caution that they try to exercise, Jim is still unprepared for the arm that loops suddenly around his neck from behind, jerking him off his feet. Before he can do much more than cry out in surprise, he’s being yanked through a doorway and into an empty conference room. Spock whirls and raises his phaser, but he doesn’t have a shot without the risk of hitting Jim.

He tries to follow Jim, only to find Uhura waiting for him in the doorway. She slams one hand into his face as he enters and the other down on his outstretched arms and Jim hears a nasty, muffled crack accompanied by a soft grunt of pain. Spock’s phaser drops from his hands and he freezes, eyes on Jim.

Jim recognizes the arms wrapped around him, the body pressed to his. And he recognizes the unmistakable feeling of a phaser digging into the underside of his chin. It feels so strange, so _wrong_ to be experiencing both at once.

Scott locks the door in the sudden silence, holding a phaser on Spock. Jim is willing to bet everything he owns that it’s not set to stun.

“Let’s just take it easy,” he says, his voice steadier than he feels.

Uhura snatches up Spock’s dropped phaser and levels it at the Vulcan, and Jim flinches. But she doesn’t fire.

“I intend to,” McCoy says, his voice harsh in Jim’s ear. This close, Jim can smell him. His scent is like Bones’, mostly, but it’s overlain with a taint of metal and blood. Jim fights back a shudder. “Give us the antidote, or you die. Easy.”

Jim blinks.

“Antidote?” he repeats. “Antidote to what?”

“Don’t give me that!” McCoy hisses furiously, pressing the phaser harder into Jim’s neck. “You know damn well to what! To whatever you gave us when you brought us here.”

“No one on this ship has given you anything,” Spock says, and there’s a thin trickle of green blood trailing from his nose but his eyes are clear and sharp, fixed on the phaser at Jim’s throat. “You are not under the influence of any poison or hallucinogen.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” McCoy demands. “I’m a doctor, I know how we should be feeling and this ain’t it! Nothing natural causes this, not in three people at once. What was it? Lysinophedrin? Histare?”

Spock’s expression shifts.

“The drugs that you have named cause discomfort in the chest,” he says. “They have been known to cause heart palpitations, difficulty breathing. Are you experiencing such symptoms?”

“As if you don’t know!” That’s Scott for the first time, and now that Jim’s looking at him, he sees that the engineer is unusually pale, his features pinched. He looks…pained.

Understanding begins to dawn. Jim meets Spock’s eyes, and sees that his friend has come to a similar revelation.

Jim has been holding it together ever since Bones and the others went missing. But even so, he hasn’t been able to ignore the sickening emptiness in his chest, the ache of a heart that’s trying to beat without something vital, the burn of lungs that don’t seem quite able to find enough air. It’s not just an emotional reaction to losing his soulmate, it’s physical. And if he didn’t know what it was, he’d probably think he’d been poisoned too.

“Listen, we didn’t give you anything, but we know what’s wrong with you,” he says. “It’s not life-threatening, and it’s fixable. But the only way to do that is to get you three back home. And the only way to do _that_ is if you stop trying to fight us.”

Uhura scoffs derisively.

“How convenient,” she says.

Jim opens his mouth to start trying to explain further, but then there comes a faint hissing noise. They all look up instinctively, and Jim’s eyes slide shut just for a moment as he realizes what must be happening. He can’t fault his crew for their actions, but he also can’t see a version of this that ends bloodlessly.

“Call it off!” Uhura orders sharply, her phaser swinging from Spock to Jim. “Order them to shut it down or…”

She sways, knees buckling. Spock catches her as she crumples. He eases her to the ground, and Jim holds his breath as Scotty collapses too. He can feel the grip on him growing slack, the phaser wavering against his skin. It would be so easy for McCoy to pull the trigger, to take him out permanently before the defensive gas can knock them out. Jim braces himself, closing his eyes. His heart aches sharply at the thought of what this will do to Bones.

But then the arms holding him fall away, the phaser dropping harmlessly from his throat, and he hears the soft thud of a body hitting the floor. He takes a step forward, but the deck lists beneath his feet, sparks of light and spots of darkness competing in his vision. He sees Spock trying to stagger back to his feet but Vulcans breathe too and he’s not immune to the gas.

Jim’s legs fail him on his next step, and he drops. He’s unconscious before he hits the ground.

*****

Part of Leonard is glad that Nyota is there with him as he listens to Kirk’s logs. He’s not sure he could get through them alone, could make himself keep listening to that familiar voice recounting so many horrors, such ugliness. The other part of him wishes that she didn’t have to hear this with him, didn’t have to be burdened with these images of her captain and friend. Leonard tries to skip through the logs quickly, looking only for what he needs, but too much extraneous information still slips through. He can feel his heart growing heavier with every word.

But when he finally reaches out to shut off the recording, he thinks he knows what he needs to. People often forget that he’s a trained psychologist as well as a physician, but his skills have come in handy on more than one away mission. He’d never imagined having to use them like this though, to profile and manipulate someone like Kirk. He finds himself wishing he knew a little less about the human psyche, about what he has to do to pull this off.

He stands, makes sure that his feet are steady beneath him, and squares his shoulders. He can’t quite look at Nyota yet, so he just walks to the door. But he can’t make himself take the last step that will trigger it to open onto the bridge.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nyota tells him gently.

“You know I do.” Leonard can’t let his fear doom an entire planet of innocents.

“Yeah. I know.”

Nyota kisses him lightly on the cheek, and then pushes at the small of his back, propelling him forward. And then he’s walking back onto the bridge, and he’s caught in the tractor beam of Kirk’s gaze, and he’s as committed now as he’s ever going to be.

“Well?” Kirk asks. “Are either of you going to start sprouting extra limbs or glowing in the dark?”

“Would you like that?” Leonard asks, quirking an eyebrow as he draws closer to the Captain’s chair.

Kirk gives him a razor of a smile.

“It would certainly open up some interesting possibilities in the bedroom.”

“Well then, I guess it’s too bad for you that I’m such a good doctor.” Leonard is standing directly in front of Kirk now, their knees practically pressed together. “We’re both going to be just fine.”

“Something tells me I’ll get over my disappointment.” Kirk’s eyes are roving over Leonard, and he tells himself that the appreciation in them, the hunger, are good things.

“Something tells me you’re right,” Leonard says, pitching his voice low.

He braces his knees on Kirk’s chair, sinks down until he’s straddling this electric-eyed shadow of the man he loves. Everything about this feels awkward and wrong, but Kirk simply watches him with rapidly increasing interest, and a quick flash of a glance around the bridge tells him that no one is even bothering to watch. So he steels himself, leans in, and presses his lips to Kirk’s.

Now, objectively, Leonard knows he’s a good kisser. But more importantly, he’s good at kissing _Jim_ , has learned what makes him smile, what makes him gasp, what makes him melt into a shivering heap on the nearest surface. He should be good at this too, but he feels his own stiffness, his hesitation, and he knows Kirk must feel it too.

He can’t begin to count the kisses that he’s shared with Jim over the years. Some quick and chaste, the briefest press of lips in greeting or farewell. Some deep and hot, full of passion and need. Some edged in anger, or fear, or desperation, others warm with laughter, contentment, peace. But none of them have felt like this. None of them have had this sharp edge of danger. None of them have felt like a betrayal.

But all of this will have been for nothing if Leonard blows his cover now. So he closes his eyes and he shuts down the voice in his brain that is cursing him in disgust and he _pretends_. He pretends that it’s his Jim he’s straddling, that they’re alone in their quarters after a shift with nothing to do but focus on each other. He pretends that he’s slowly taking Jim apart because he wants to, pretends that the hands clutching at him possessively are the ones that have already explored every inch of his body, the ones he trusts implicitly.

It’s easier than it should be. Jim’s taste on his tongue is warm and familiar, his scent a comfort in the air between them. And Leonard’s body believes even if his heart doesn’t quite. He settles against the body he knows every inch of, feeling his heart begin to race, his blood heating. And he’ll hate himself for it later, he knows, but he can’t think about that now, can’t think about anything but his desperate illusion as he pours himself into the kiss, deepening it into something tantalizingly filthy.

And when he feels Kirk go hard beneath him, he knows his efforts are working. He opens his eyes, a cold weight settling in his stomach. He pulls away only far enough to press his lips to Kirk’s ear.

“You know what would disappoint me?” he asks softly. “Watching a perfectly good opportunity for research go to waste.”

“That so?” Kirk rocks his hips almost lazily, fingers digging into Leonard’s skin. “What kind of research did you have in mind?”

Leonard leans into his touch.

“Those people down there, their culture is completely the opposite of ours,” he says. “Don’t you want to watch how the unenlightened fall apart? Don’t you think it would be fascinating to watch the mechanics of their downfall, to study the simple elegance of a weak world unraveling on its own rather than just obliterating it with a single blunt stroke? Surely there’s more satisfaction in that. I know there would be for me.”

“You really want this one?” Kirk asks, and he doesn’t sound suspicious or surprised, just curious. “Doesn’t seem like anything special.”

“The people fascinate me. The dead are much less interesting.”

Kirk still doesn’t say anything, so Leonard presses closer, lowers his voice into the tone he knows gets right under Jim’s skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises. He drags his teeth over the lobe of Kirk’s ear, and feels him shudder beneath him in response.

“Hmm. I intend to hold you to that,” Kirk says, and Leonard knows he’s won. It’s about the most hollow victory he’s ever experienced.

He sits back once he’s sure that his face won’t give him away, and Kirk looks past him to Sulu’s station.

“Tell the Halkans they have six hours to cough up the mining rights, or they become the Empire’s newest science experiment,” he orders.

Leonard favors him with a hard smile and eases himself back further, standing.

“I’ll see you later,” he promises Kirk, thankful for the small mercy it is that he won’t be the McCoy fulfilling that promise.

“Yes, you will.”

Kirk catches him by the shirtfront and tugs him down for one last deep, biting kiss.

Leonard is careful not to look at Nyota as he heads for the turbolift, not willing to take the chance of this brittle mask of his cracking. He’s almost to the doors when a crackling _pfft_ sound splits the air behind him, and he turns in time to see smoke starting to pour out of the helm console. The smell of burning plastic rapidly fills the bridge, and Leonard knows that Nyota’s plan is going off just as smoothly as his did, so he leaves her to it and finally makes his escape.

He doesn’t take the turbolift back to Engineering though. They can’t go anywhere until Nyota’s shift ends, and he doesn’t think he can bear to spend the time until then with Scotty. Not after what he’s just done, not when his lips are still swollen from Kirk’s kiss, skin still burning from his touch. So he decides to walk instead, figuring the halls are about the safest place for him to be. For every person out here that wants to kill him, surely there’s another who wants to curry favor with him and Kirk by saving him.

The hallway is so quiet that it takes a moment for Leonard to register what he’s seeing. Because that expression, that face contorted in agony, mouth stretched wide, means that there should be piercing screams reverberating through the air. But Pavel Chekov’s screams fall on no one’s ears but his own.

The kid is in some kind of transparent box, bathed in a harsh red light. His curly hair is sticking to his face from the sweat beading on his skin, and he’s writhing in the most intense pain Leonard has ever had the misfortune of witnessing. The box is flanked by two guards, one of whom taps a command into the control panel on its side. The light increases in intensity, and finally Chekov’s screams are audible. Muted, but not enough to keep the sound from going straight to Leonard’s heart.

He’s rushing forward before he can even think about it.

“Let him out of there!” he orders, and he thinks that his voice is finally harsh enough to belong in this universe.

The two guards snap to attention at the sight of him and each gives him a salute, but they don’t immediately obey his command. They look at each other, clearly neither wanting to be the one to deal with him.

“Captain Kirk ordered full duration, sir,” one of them says, evidently having lost the silent argument.

Of course. Chekov was the one who’d tried to seize power today. He’d attacked Kirk, and most likely ordered the hit on Leonard as well. Kirk had undoubtedly felt that this hellish sentence was perfectly justified. But Leonard’s horror is undiminished.

“And I’m telling you he’s changed his mind!” he snaps. He can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Chekov’s agonized face. “Keep him in his quarters if you want, but let him out of that goddamn box!” He finally forces his eyes to the guard. “Or would you rather take this argument to the captain?”

Thankfully, he would not, and soon the barbaric chamber is being deactivated. Leonard doesn’t stick around to watch them pull Chekov out of it, because he doesn’t think he can bear to see one more thing this universe has corrupted. He checks the time, and when he sees that he’s got fifteen more minutes until Nyota’s shift ends, he changes direction and heads once more for his office, and the spare uniform he keeps in there. The one he’s got on is still spattered with dried blood, and suddenly he can’t bear to wear it for another minute.

*****

Jim wakes in medbay with a splitting headache. It’s not an unfamiliar experience.

He looks around automatically for Bones, who’s sure to be lurking around nearby with a scowl and a lecture. But then he remembers. His empty chest tightens and his eyes burn.

Christine Chapel is standing a few paces away, wiping down the surface of the empty biobed next to his. She turns when she hears Jim stir.

“Is Mr. Spock all right?” Jim asks her.

She nods tightly.

“He metabolized the gas faster than you did. He woke up twenty minutes ago and returned to the bridge.”

“He was hurt.” Jim wouldn’t put it past his first officer to downplay the injury in order to get back on duty faster. “Did someone-?”

“Dr. M’Benga fixed his nose while he was still unconscious. He’s good as new.”

Well, that at least is a relief. Jim sits up with a groan.

“The…fugitives?” he asks, blinking as dark spots dance across his vision.

“None of them suffered any injuries or ill effects from the gas. They’ve been transferred back to the brig, under increased security as I understand.”

“Good. That's…that’s good.” God, but Jim’s head is killing him. He presses a palm to his forehead, willing his thoughts to clear.

“Here, Captain.”

There comes the light sting of a hypo at his neck, followed by soothing relief. Jim sighs softly, letting his hand drop. He looks up gratefully, but his words of thanks stick in his throat. Chapel is giving him a gentle, solemn look. He’s been a captain long enough to know what it means.

“How many?” he asks quietly.

“Three, sir. Nil’Tongya, Cartwright, and Zeer.”

Jim clenches his jaw and nods. Three. Three good people lost, three families that will never be the same. Three too many.

But notifications and arrangements will have to wait for now. Because there are three more lives on the line, lives that aren’t lost to him yet but could be with frightening ease. So Jim packs away his sorrow and regret and swings his legs over the side of the biobed. Chapel steadies him as he stands and he waits for a moment, but his vision doesn’t go dark again and everything stays where it should.

“Thank you, Nurse,” he says, shrugging off the helping hands. He grabs the boots lying on the floor beside his bed and tugs them on, stumbling towards the exit.

“Captain?”

He pauses and looks back. Chapel crosses her arms over her chest, meeting his gaze directly.

“Just tell me; can you get him back?”

Jim swallows hard, gut lurching. He glances around the medbay, Bones’ beloved domain.

“I don’t know, Christine,” he admits, before turning and striding away from all of the questions and fears and memories.

He should head back to the bridge, he knows he should. But Spock is already up there, and things are as in hand as they’re going to be, and when Jim gets into the turbolift ‘bridge’ turns to ‘brig’ and he finds himself standing outside of McCoy’s cell again. They’ve separated the prisoners this time, and polarized the cell barriers so that their occupants can no longer see out of them. McCoy seems to know he’s there anyway, because he stalks up to the barrier, squinting at it.

Jim peers back at him. He considers, but he can’t muster up hatred or even anger towards this man who hurt his crew. Not when he can’t help but understand why it happened.

And it’s a bad idea, but Jim signals for the officer stationed at the brig console to depolarize McCoy’s cell and let audio through. McCoy’s eyes settle on him at once, but they don’t immediately go hard and fierce like they did before. He just studies Jim, and he looks tired somehow, like some of the fight has gone out of him.

“I don’t get you,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

McCoy crosses his arms, frowning at Jim.

“You’ve been telling the truth this whole time, haven’t you?” Much of the hostility and mistrust that have characterized their other interactions has faded from his voice.

“I have,” Jim says simply.

“Then I don’t get you,” McCoy repeats, shaking his head. He gestures vaguely with his arm in a motion that could encompass Jim or the brig or the entire universe. “I don’t get any of this.”

“We think it was caused by a power surge to the trans-”

“I’m not talking about the physics of how it happened,” McCoy interrupts. “I’m talking about this place, this world. _You_.”

“Me?”

“Why haven’t you killed me? I threatened to kill you. I did kill two of your crew.”

Jim winces. He realizes with a pang of shame that part of him had been hoping that all three crewmen had been killed by Uhura and Scott.

“We don’t execute people here,” he says.

“Why not?” The question is genuine, not belligerent. Jim’s stomach turns.

“Because it’s barbaric and unnecessary and wrong.”

McCoy stares at him.

“So?”

“So that matters to us here.”

“But doesn’t that leave you weak, vulnerable? How can you possibly expect to hold onto power when you don’t enforce your authority?”

Jim crosses his arms.

“Look around you,” he challenges. “Look where you are, and where I am. Whose strategy seems to be working out better?”

McCoy startles him by smiling. It doesn’t have the same warmth as Bones’, but it does look real.

“Point,” he acknowledges. “But we were also pretty heavily outnumbered.”

“Maybe, but we’re still not to be underestimated. Just because we use our strength judiciously doesn’t mean we lack it.” Jim steps closer to the barrier, still studying the man on the other side. “But what it really comes down to is…we’re not out here to seek or keep power. Authority, yes, when we’re in Federation space, but not control for its own sake. We value peace, not tyranny.”

“Then why _are_ you out here? What’s the point?”

Jim opens his mouth. And then closes it. Why the hell is this the hardest question of the conversation? This is what he’s built his life around, isn’t it?

“Exploration,” he says finally, feeling like he’s reading from a script. “Knowledge.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“It’s a valuable mission.” He still believes that, doesn’t he? His whole life has been about pushing boundaries, racing towards the next horizon. But in that moment, he thinks he would give just about anything to go back. Because there’s no horizon to reach, not really, and the quest has just cost him half of his soul.

McCoy looks like he’s about to press further.

“What about you?” Jim asks quickly. “Do you really only care about power? Is that really all that’s keeping you in space?”

McCoy’s expression grows solemn, pensive.

“Power isn’t just about being the person that everyone obeys,” he says after a moment. “I’ve never seen much use for that kind of power, not for its own sake. Power is a tool. The most important one there is, maybe, but no more than that. Not for me.”

McCoy shifts his weight back, crosses an arm over his chest and raises his hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture that is so _Bones_ it makes Jim’s breath catch.

“I don’t have the disregard and contempt for other life that you seem to think I do,” McCoy continues. “I find it fascinating, captivating. Serving on the Empire’s flagship lets me see more of it than I would have anywhere else. It’s let me become the best at what I do, let me shape my own path. And it’s given me…” McCoy trails off, blinking at Jim. Something shutters in his eyes, and he lets his hand drop. “Well, anyway, just because you don’t understand my reasons doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”

Jim supposes that’s the best they can do. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand this man fully, but then, he’s not entirely sure that he wants to.

Neither of them seems to know what to say next.

McCoy squints at the clear cell barrier, and then his gaze drops to the back of his hand. He lifts it slightly to study the writing on it. Where once the mark had triggered rage, now it just seems to be a curiosity.

“What is this?” he asks after a moment. “Really?”

“It’s called a soulmark.” Jim studies the man. He seems genuinely bemused. “You really don’t have them in your reality, do you?”

“Random involuntary tattoos? No.” McCoy’s scrutiny of him is just as intent. “They mean something.”

“The mark is the first words that your soulmate ever says to you.”

McCoy laughs, sharp but apparently genuine. Jim can’t help flinching slightly. McCoy stares at him, smile fading.

“You’re serious?” he demands. Jim’s silence is answer enough. “ _Soulmate_? Of all the- What does that even _mean_?”

“It’s why you and the others thought you’d been poisoned,” Jim tells him. “The connection to your soulmate is…well, it’s not physical, exactly, but it’s substantial, and when you lose it, the effects can manifest physically. The death of your soulmate can be quite literally devastating; fatal, even. But what you’re feeling, that pain and emptiness, it’s because your soulmate is in another universe.”

McCoy is still staring at him. There’s incredulity there, but the disbelief seems to be fading. Naturally, it’s replaced by disdain.

“And here I was thinking your sentimentality was your biggest weakness,” he says. “You’re telling me that you can cripple someone just by killing someone else?”

“That’s not the way we tend to think about it here. Soulmates aren’t- they’re not _weapons_ , to be used against people.”

“But it’s true.”

Jim presses a hand to his chest unconsciously. He thinks about those weeks after the warp core, about the fragile, broken mess Bones had been. He thinks about the struggle it was for them to get together in the first place, both having already been so deeply damaged by the people they thought were their soulmates.

“Yes,” he admits. “It’s true.”

“I can’t believe you people made it to space,” McCoy says, shaking his head again. “How in the-? Never mind. Just never mind.”

He starts to pace.

“But what’s the _point_?” he asks after a moment.

Jim gives him a tiny, sad smile.

“If he were here, you wouldn’t need to ask me that question,” he says.

McCoy stares at him, and it’s not long before he’s glancing back down at the mark on his hand, his mouth pinching into a reluctant frown.

“The _first_ words they say to you?” he asks, dubious.

Jim grimaces.

“Check your arm. Your left forearm.”

McCoy shoots him a suspicious look, but he pushes up his sleeve. He squints at the pale grey writing on his skin. Jim does the same.

_It may be the last thing you ever do._

“You threatened to puke on him, didn’t you?” Jim asks.

He’s not sure why the idea feels so odd. But this, knowing that such a detail remained constant when so much else is different makes it seem more real somehow, that these people really are versions of them. And the fact that his counterpart threatened McCoy instead of trying to reassure him makes him ache.

McCoy nods. He pushes his sleeve back down, his expression complicated.

“So why the second one?” he asks.

“They fade when the person who spoke them dies, but new ones form when that death is temporary.”

McCoy peers down at the back of his hand again. Jim studies it too, a strange new thought occurring to him.

The soulmark on Bones’ hand has faded, but Jim is hardly surprised that McCoy’s hasn’t. The last time Jim died was trying to save a stuffed animal in a thunderstorm, and he hardly thinks that’s the kind of thing his counterpart in some dark reality would do. But the first time he died was by crawling into a warp core, sacrificing himself for his crew. And from everything he’s been given to understand, that’s not the kind of behavior prevalent in the mirror universe either.

“How did he die?” he asks.

McCoy blinks, looks up at him.

“Our ship was attacked, crippled. He got irradiated fixing the warp core.”

“He sacrificed himself?”

“Tried to. I had something to say about it.” McCoy waves his marked hand. He snorts. “‘One hell of a sore loser,’ he called me. Well, he wasn’t wrong. I don’t lose to death. I just send him plenty of consolation prizes.”

Jim fights back a shiver at the implications of that one.

“Why?” McCoy asks. “Did all that not happen here?”

“No, it did.” Jim blinks away memories of glass chambers and a body wracked with deadly pain. “I just haven’t been getting the sense that self-sacrifice is something that’s particularly common in your world.”

“Jim Kirk is not a common man,” McCoy says with a smirk that’s more wistful than amused. It fades, and he shrugs. “Losing his ship, his command; that would’ve been a defeat for him. If he had to die, it wasn’t gonna be because he’d failed. Besides.” McCoy pauses, and his voice is quieter when he says, “I was still onboard.”

Well. Jim can hardly question that. It had been thoughts of Bones, of keeping him safe, that carried him through the heart of that warp core, lent strength to his dying muscles.

“I’m glad that mattered,” he says, because it’s true, and he can think of nothing else.

McCoy snorts, and Jim watches him force the vulnerability from his eyes.

“Me too,” he says, with an ironic curl of his lip. He nods down at Jim’s blank hands. “So, why don’t you have one of these ridiculous mark things?”

“I do. They don’t always show up in the same places.”

Jim hesitates, then pulls up the right leg of his pants. The top of his most recent soulmark pokes over the edge of his boot. McCoy crouches to study it.

“So you and him…?”

Jim straightens, letting his uniform drop back into place.

“Yeah.”

McCoy’s expression is complicated again.

“He’s not gonna make it,” he says, blunt. “Not if he’s as soft as the rest of you.”

There’s no malice in it, and that makes it worse, somehow. But Jim just tilts his head up, swallows past the horror that’s threatening to choke him.

“I have faith in him,” he says, and despite his fear, the words are as true as they’ve always been.

“Yeah? Well I have faith in _him_.”

*****

Leonard has barely gotten changed into a clean uniform when his office door opens without so much as a chime of warning. Before he even has time to look to see who’s entered, a hand fists roughly in the back of his shirt and flings him against the nearest wall. His head connects hard enough to send stars swirling across his vision, but his grunt of pain is choked off by the arm that presses against his windpipe.

Leonard blinks at the face of Captain James T. Kirk, twisted into a fearsome, furious snarl, and feels himself go oddly numb.

“Who are you?” Kirk spits, but Leonard can’t answer, because no air is getting to his lungs.

Kirk growls in frustration but eases his forearm from Leonard’s neck. He replaces it with the edge of his knife, a deadly promise against Leonard’s fragile skin.

“Who are you?” he demands again.

Leonard’s heart is in his throat, pounding against the blade of the knife. But he still feels strangely calm, detached even, as he looks Kirk in the eye.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks. “Jim, it’s me.”

Cold fury storms in those hard blue eyes, and ice creeps into Leonard’s core. Kirk presses the knife harder against his skin, and he grits his teeth against a hiss of pain as it breaks through.

“I don’t think so,” Kirk snarls, leaning further into his space until they’re breathing the same air, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. “You’ve done an impressive job of copying him, I’ll give you that. But he would never be so weak. He might let his own enemies live, but not mine. Never mine.”

Leonard swallows, the knife tugging at his skin.

“I thought Chekov could be useful to you,” he tries, but his voice dies as the blade bites deeper into his throat. He feels the first trickle of blood down his neck.

“You are _lying to me_ ,” Kirk bites out, and Leonard has never seen this expression before, has never imagined anything like it on the face he loves so much. “Tell me where I first took you, then. Tell me what you said to me the day I won this ship. Tell me the first secret I ever trusted to you.”

He’s breathing hard, his eyes boring relentlessly into Leonard’s. They both know he will get no answers.

Slowly, carefully, Leonard slips his hand into his pocket. He closes his fingers around the hypo of sedatives he’s been carrying. Still eyeing Kirk defiantly, he takes a second to steel himself, and then goes to strike. Before his hand has so much as cleared his pocket, Kirk grabs him by the forearm and smashes his wrist into the wall. Bones crunch in a sickening explosion of pain and he cries out, the hypo dropping from his fingers.

Teeth bared and eyes sparking, Kirk slams his broken wrist against the wall once more for good measure, before letting it drop and snatching the knife from Leonard’s belt to toss harmlessly across the office. With that done, he fists a hand in Leonard’s hair and yanks his head back sharply. He presses close and drags the edge of his blade over his exposed throat, hard enough to be a painful threat but light enough not to be a death sentence.

“Tell me what you did to McCoy,” Kirk says, more softly now, “and I’ll kill you quickly.”

The silence that settles between them now is a deadly thing, but Leonard can’t break it. Because explaining what happened to his counterpart means revealing that Scotty and Uhura are also impostors, means exposing them to this horrific wrath as well. And Leonard will die in agony before he lets that happen.

The rage in Kirk’s expression is chilling, but that’s not the worst of it. The worst is the fear that shadows his eyes. He’s _afraid_ for his McCoy, and Leonard knows from experience just what that kind of fear can motivate someone to do. So he closes his eyes, because he doesn’t want to see what happens next. He doesn’t want that image of Jim in his head, especially if it's going to be one of his last.

“You’re as stubborn as he is, aren’t you?” Kirk murmurs, and Leonard still doesn’t look, doesn’t answer.

The cold edge of the knife vanishes from his throat and the hand from his hair, but the reprieve lasts only an instant. Because then the blade is plunging into his right shoulder, under his collarbone, clean through muscle and cartilage and scapula and into the wall behind him. He can’t help it; he screams, his eyes snapping open again but his vision going grey around the edges. He’s pinned in place like a bug on a card, and his entire shoulder is aflame.

“-down to McCoy’s office _now_ ,” Kirk is barking into his communicator when Leonard can focus again. “Come alone.”

He snaps the communicator shut and refocuses on Leonard. They watch each other wordlessly for a moment. Leonard’s breaths are coming in ragged heaves, each one jarring the blade embedded in his body and sending a fresh wave of agony through him. But he holds Kirk’s gaze.

“Do you have any idea how royally you’ve fucked up?” Kirk asks him, almost conversationally.

Leonard doesn’t answer. The game is up, and he knows it. He doesn’t have to pretend anymore, at least.

Kirk flicks the handle of the knife. Leonard grits his teeth so hard they ache, but he still can’t completely smother his grunt of pain. His eyes are watering now, but he blinks them clear.

“Although I suppose you’re lucky, in a way,” Kirk continues, flicking the knife again. “You see, you’re going to die, and it will be ugly, and painful, and worse than you can imagine. But I’m going to be the one to kill you, and I’ve never been the patient one. That’s Bones. He has this way of turning a death into a masterpiece. It’s a hell of a thing to watch.”

A hell of a thing.

“What do you _see_ in each other?” Leonard asks, low and ragged. “What could possibly be the point of all this? What do you live for when everything is...is _evil_?”

“Turns out power is that much sweeter when you share it with someone. And watching the world burn is more satisfying when someone hands you the match.”

Leonard can’t help staring.

“But _why_ -?”

He breaks off as the door hisses open. He and Kirk both turn to look. Leonard feels the blood drain from his face, clammy sweat breaking out on his skin.

Spock is standing in the doorway. He doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at the scene that greets him.

“What is it that you require, Captain?” he asks of Kirk.

“Your unique skill set, Mr. Spock.” Kirk gestures to Leonard. “Our devious friend here has information that I don’t have time to extract from him the fun way. Find out what he’s done with the real Bones.”

Spock does raise an eyebrow now, but he doesn’t question the order.

“Oh, and Spock?” Kirk says as the Vulcan approaches. “No need to be gentle.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Any trace of numbness has left Leonard now. Terror has taken over, blinding and absolute. He’s melded with his Spock only once before, and it was a fascinating, humbling experience. And even with the implicit trust he has in his friend, it had still been almost overwhelming, frightening. And this is not his Spock.

He knows with a bone-deep certainty that his very being is about to be violated, his mind ransacked. It’s a prospect worse than anything Kirk could do with the knife. There will be nothing left of him to put back together.

Spock steps closer, his expression cool, assessing. The Spock of Leonard’s universe is so principled and controlled that it can be easy to forget the terrible power he carries with him everywhere, but this darker version of him exudes it without trying. He’s more than capable of overwhelming any mental barriers Leonard could put up, shattering them and using the shrapnel to dig ever deeper. Resistance will only make it worse.

But resistance could also give Scotty and Uhura the time they need to get home.

“Please, Spock,” Leonard whispers, staring into the liquid brown eyes mere inches from his own. “Please don’t do this.”

He flinches back from the cool fingers that press into his face, but they simply follow him, their touch still perfectly precise. Spock’s eyes bore into his, and he feels his entire body start to tremble. The tears that Kirk’s knife brought to his eyes finally escape to slide down his cheeks. He wonders what it will be like to be unmade.

“Oiy!”

It’s the oldest trick in the book, and every single one of them falls for it. Spock and Kirk turn towards the direction of Scotty’s cry, and Kirk gets a hypo in the eye for his trouble. Not a dosage of medication - an actual, empty hypospray flung directly at his face. He doubles over, and it’s enough time for Scotty to charge him. Nyota is right behind the engineer, but she heads for Spock instead, her eyes blazing. Spock steps away from Leonard to meet her, ducking under the first punch that she throws at his head.

Leonard’s eyes flicker back to Scotty, and his gut lurches. His friend has one hell of a fighting Scottish spirit, but he’s more of a ‘give a punch and take a punch and hope it’s enough to end the argument’ kind of fighter. He’s a brawler, and not a bad one. But he’s just thrown himself headlong into a battle with a killer. Kirk is vicious skill and ruthless ferocity and Scotty is no match for him. It’s only seconds before Kirk has him pinned to the floor and gasping for air, eyes wide and panicked.

Leonard is not about to stand by and watch his friend get killed.

He grips the handle of the knife in his shoulder, takes a fortifying breath, and yanks it from his body. The pain is immediate and staggering, but he pushes through it and lurches toward Kirk and Scotty. He lifts the knife, still slick with his own blood. But he can’t make himself plunge it into Kirk’s exposed back.

He doesn’t have to. Kirk seems to sense his presence, and he turns, sweeping his leg out to slam his foot into Leonard’s knee. Leonard crashes to the floor, the knife clattering out of his hand. Before he can try to scramble to his feet again, Kirk looms over him, planting a knee directly on his stab wound and a hand on his throat.

The pain in his shoulder flares unbearably and he screams again. But it’s a short, choked sound, and he can’t replace the air it cost him. Kirk’s eyes are icy and burning, full of rage and steel and terrible promises, and Leonard wants to look away from them but he can’t. And then it doesn’t matter, because his vision starts to fade, the horror show blurring into harmless grey fog. Adrenaline surges through his body, but his limbs have grown too heavy for him to lift.

Something wet splashes Leonard’s face, and he hears Kirk gasp softly above him. The pressure on his throat lets up, and his vision clears in time for him to see Kirk staring down at the tip of the knife sticking out of his chest. Cold, irrational horror strikes Leonard at the sight, and he finds he can still barely breathe as Kirk slumps to the side, revealing Scotty standing behind him, shaking hands still outstretched.

Scotty is ashen and slightly green, and looks to be about five seconds away from hurling, but after just a beat of frozen silence he crouches down to drag Leonard away from his fallen assailant, a nonstop string of muttered apologies falling from his lips as Leonard fails to bite back the grunts of pain that escape him at the movement. They both look around for Nyota, and Leonard feels his heart skip a beat. His friend is standing before Spock, and the Vulcan has his hands on her face, fingers over her psi points. His eyes are boring into hers, and her hands are on his forearms, slender fingers gripping tight. Her body is rigid with tension, and she’s trembling just slightly.

Scotty gasps and lets go of Leonard, springing to his feet. But Leonard grabs him by the leg, stopping him before he can head for the motionless duo.

“Don’t,” he grunts, feeling sick. He stares at Nyota’s back, and he’s suddenly wishing for everything he’d so feared just a moment ago. He would take the devastating violation of a forced meld in a heartbeat if it meant sparing her from the same. “Try to separate them now, and you’ll only make it worse.”

Scotty doesn’t look happy about it, but he stays where he is. He knows they have no choice.

Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Leonard pushes himself up and crawls one-handed back to where Kirk is slumped on the ground, his breath coming in audible, wet rasps. The knife is still sticking through his chest, but now that Leonard is looking, he sees that Scotty struck low and far enough to the right to miss his heart, and probably any major arteries.

“What are you doing?” Scotty demands when he sees him.

“I can save him,” Leonard grunts. “Help me move him.”

“Help you-?” Scotty sputters. “Are you _mad_? What do you think you can do? Can you even stand?”

That’s actually a fair question, but it’s one Leonard doesn’t have time to ponder.

“Dammit, Scotty, just-” he tries to grab Kirk’s legs, but drops them again with a gasp as his right arm gives out. The damn knife must have caused some nerve damage, because he can barely feel his hand, much less use it. The broken wrist isn’t helping matters either.

“Allow me, Doctor.”

Leonard flinches at the unexpected voice and looks up to see Spock standing over him and Kirk. He looks past the Vulcan to Nyota, who appears tired and strained, but more or less intact.

“Are you all right?” he asks her at once, trying to stand.

As predicted, it doesn’t go well. Scotty and Nyota both lunge forward to catch him, and they duck under his arms to support him. Spock stoops forward to pick up Kirk.

“Don’t-” Leonard bites out, but Nyota squeezes his waist.

“It’s all right,” she murmurs. “He’s up to speed now, and he wants to help us.”

“How can you say that, after what he just did to you?” Leonard demands.

“He didn’t do anything,” Nyota tells him, helping Scotty all but haul him out of his office and into medbay proper, following Spock as he carries Kirk toward one of the operating theaters. “I initiated the meld. I thought if he just understood what was happening, he’d react logically. And he is.”

“This is logical?” Scotty puffs from Leonard’s other side.

Spock hears him, and turns back to look at them all after he sets Kirk down on an operating table.

“We want our officers back,” he says. “And you wish to return home. Our goals are aligned. It is indeed logical to collaborate rather than continue to fight one another.” He focuses on Leonard. “I believe you said that you can help the captain.”

Leonard nods and tries to step forward, but Scotty and Nyota don’t move with him, so he doesn’t get very far.

“The field density between this universe and ours is increasing as we speak,” Scotty says. “If we don’t get out of here in thirty minutes, we never will.”

Leonard knows this, he does, but he can’t take his eyes off the man on that operating table. He shrugs off Scotty first, and then Nyota.

“You two go,” he says, trying a few experimental steps forward. His legs feel about as steady as a newborn colt’s, but he remains upright. “I’ll save Kirk, and meet up with you if I can.”

“ _If_?” Nyota demands, keeping pace with Leonard, her hands outstretched to catch him if he falls. “I don’t think so, Len.”

Leonard has reached the table now, where Kirk is lying on his side, colorless, eyes half-closed.

“I need a proto-plaser and a standard surgical kit,” he barks at Spock, who nods and turns to the cabinets set in the walls.

“How long will this take?” Nyota asks.

“I don’t know!” Leonard snaps, even though he has an idea. Her eyes narrow dangerously.

“But you do know it’ll take longer than thirty minutes,” she says.

Leonard doesn’t answer, just reaches out with his good hand to take the hypo and drug cartridge that Spock is holding out to him. He bends over Kirk, planting the hypo in the muscle of his neck. As he’s pulling away though, Kirk grabs him by the shirt. His grip is weak enough to break with ease, but Leonard pauses, waits as those blue eyes flutter open a little more fully to focus on him.

“Why-?” Kirk coughs, a thin trickle of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. “Why are you doing this?”

Leonard stares at him for just a beat. It’s a fair question.

“Because I _am_ Leonard McCoy,” he decides. “And you’re Jim Kirk.”

But the hypo of anesthetic that he just administered has already taken effect, and Kirk is unconscious. Leonard straightens and orders Spock to cut Kirk out of his uniform while he injects a few cartridges of drugs into his own neck, enough to keep him on his feet and hopefully slow the bleeding from his shoulder and throat long enough for him to get them seen to in his own universe.

Nyota and Scotty have apparently given up on arguing with him in favor of helping him finish faster. Nyota grabs the knife from her belt and uses it to hack off Leonard’s sleeves at the bicep, freeing his hands, while Scotty boots up the sterile field around the operating table.

“Surely one of the other doctors can take care of this,” Nyota says. Okay, apparently not quite given up.

“One of those other doctors tried to kill me today,” Leonard snaps, grabbing an automatic intubation mask one-handed and securing it over Kirk’s mouth. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust any of them. Now get in here, this is gonna take all of us.”

It has got to be the most slapdash surgery ever performed in a fully functioning medbay. One doctor who is for all intents and purposes down a limb, assisted by three people whose medical experience ranges from a first aid class at the Academy fifteen years ago to Lord knows what. Spock knows the equipment best after Leonard, so he’s the one fetching supplies as Leonard asks for them. Nyota’s task is more hands-on, pulling the knife from Kirk’s back and then suctioning the blood out of the way of the instruments.

And Scotty…well, Scotty’s job really boils down to standing behind Leonard with an arm around him, making sure he doesn’t topple over onto his patient. It would probably be awkward as hell under other circumstances, but they’re all under too much strain to waste energy worrying about invading each other’s personal space. Besides, what Scotty’s other arm is doing is consuming most of his attention.

“How good is that sterile field?” Leonard can hear in his voice the reason he’s asking.

“It doesn’t matter, because you’re not going to throw up,” he says without looking up. “If I can be an engineer for a day, you can be half a doctor. Now, pinch that vessel with your fingers - no, the other one, the one that’s bleeding.”

Scotty’s is the second most skilled pair of hands on the ship, so his right hand is filling in for Leonard’s. He’s less than thrilled.

“I thought you wanted to _save_ him,” he protests. “This seems like a good way to do the exact opposite.”

“Just think of it like working on a really leaky machine.”

Leonard’s not entirely sure how to describe the sound that hits his ear after that comment. It’s something between offended outrage and incredulity so profound as to leave one speechless. But Leonard will not be swayed.

It’s not that he doesn’t sympathize, because he does. But he knows that it hasn’t hit Scotty yet, the fact that he’s the one who did this, who thrust that knife into Kirk’s unprotected back. But it will soon, and he’ll carry that forever. And if that’s inevitable, Leonard wants him to be able to carry this as well, the knowledge that he helped to save Kirk.

“How did you two know to find me?” he asks, in part because he’s curious and in part because Scotty clearly needs the distraction. But it’s Nyota who answers.

“I’d been monitoring communications among the higher ranking officers,” she says. “When Kirk commed Spock from your office, I…heard you.”

 _Screaming_ , she doesn’t say, but the word haunts her tone. Leonard decides to stop asking questions.

They quickly get Kirk’s bleeding under control, but his right lung was punctured and his oxygen saturation is dropping fast. Damage to a lung is more difficult to repair, and Leonard mutters a curse as his hand trembles and he nearly slices into a blood vessel. He may have legendary hands, but he’s still human, and he’s going into shock. His body has become just one more thing that he can’t trust.

“Seven minutes,” Scotty warns anxiously. “And the trip to the transporter room takes at least two.”

“Two point six,” Spock corrects.

“Go,” Leonard snaps. “Spock and I will take care of this.” He looks up at Nyota and tries to wriggle out of Scotty’s hold. “Go now; that’s an order! Get the hell out of here.”

Neither of them move.

“We’re the same rank,” Scotty says, and Leonard can’t see his expression but he sounds stubborn as hell. “You cannae give me orders.”

“And I, frankly, don’t care,” says Nyota. “It’s not like you can have me court martialed if we don’t make it.”

That logic is hard to argue with. It’s not going to stop him from trying though.

“There’s no point in all three of us getting stuck-”

“Save it, Doc,” Scotty says shortly. “Nothing we could face in this universe could be worse than going back without you and having to tell the captain that he’s never going to see you again. I’ve been on the other end of that, and I’m not about to put someone else through it.”

Leonard’s mouth snaps shut.

“How long will the captain survive if you leave him in this condition?” Spock asks.

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?” Leonard guesses. “I don’t know. Longer now than he would have twenty minutes ago.”

“Then you must all leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“If this exchange works, then the Dr. McCoy of this universe will be returning well within that window of time. He will be able to finish the work that you started, now that you have sufficiently stabilized the captain.”

Leonard wouldn’t describe Kirk’s condition as anything approximating stable, but he gets Spock’s point. He looks down at his patient, pale and vulnerable.

It’s such a familiar sight. Too damn familiar, in any universe. The only time he’s ever walked away from Jim on his table was the day Jim was on that table in a body bag. And even then, he’d been able to stay away for less than a minute. That kind of instinct is hard to fight.

But if he doesn’t get out of here in time, there will be another Jim on another operating table in another universe someday, probably soon, and he won’t have his doctor to treat him.

He nods, and inserts a few clamps and patches that he can only pray will keep Kirk together long enough for his McCoy to get to him. And then he allows Scotty and Nyota to half-carry him from the operating room, which Spock locks behind them. They make their way laboriously to the transporter room, and Scotty and Nyota haul Leonard up to the pad while Spock dismisses the transporter tech from the controls. The security guard at the door gives them all bewildered looks upon being ordered to leave as well, but is apparently not brave enough to question four superior officers at the same time.

Scotty pulls reluctantly away once Leonard is situated on his pad.

“This is already going to be a bear of a transport,” he explains. “We’re each going to need our own unit if we’re to have even a prayer of making it back in one piece.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Leonard mutters.

He glances sideways at Nyota, but she’s looking at Spock. Some sort of understanding seems to pass between them.

“I am grateful to have encountered you all,” Spock says, and funnily enough, Leonard believes him. “It has been a most illuminating experience. One that, I believe, has the potential for profound consequences in this world.”

He nods at Nyota, who gives Leonard a gentle squeeze and pulls away from him slowly, making sure he stays upright before stepping onto her own pad. Leonard grits his teeth as his head spins and his knees tremble beneath him, but he doesn’t fall.

Spock taps at the transporter controls, and the world dissolves.

*****

“Are you certain about this, Captain?”

“I’m open to alternate suggestions, Spock.”

Jim waits, but Spock is silent. The two of them are standing in the transporter room, watching as the Scott from the other universe digs through the wiring of the transporter console, muttering to himself. Four security guards are standing in a ring around him with their phasers drawn, and Keenser is watching him closely to make sure that he’s not trying to pull anything.

“I honestly think McCoy and I managed to convince him that our interests are aligned here,” Jim adds. That had taken some doing. “He knows that cooperation is his best chance of getting home. Even if he is from another universe, he knows the transporters better than anyone else on board.”

Spock inclines his head to acknowledge the point, but he still watches closely as Scott stands to fiddle with the console, frowning down at the display. Jim bites back a query about his progress. The last time he tried that, his answer had been a look he’d never wanted to see on that normally cheerful face.

But then the console starts beeping madly, and Jim can’t stop himself from taking a step forward.

“What’s happening?” he asks sharply.

Scott doesn’t look at him, just taps furiously at the console. A moment later, his eyes go wide.

“Get McCoy and Uhura,” he snaps. “Have them brought here now.”

Jim doesn’t trust this man as far as he can throw a Gorn, but something about that tone has him reaching for his communicator without question and sending orders to the brig.

“Have you identified means of returning your companions and yourself to the correct universe?” Spock asks.

“Didn’t have to. Your Scott already did.”

Jim’s eyes snap to the transporter pad, half expecting to see three pillars of light materialize out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“They’ve recreated a power surge like the one that started this whole mess, and they’re using it to try to beam back. But they waited too long, and the field density between the universes has increased too much to get through on their own. We’ve got to use this transporter to supply power from our side. But to do that in time, and to get me and the others back to our universe, we’ve got to beam up _now_.”

He looks at Keenser and proceeds to spout technical jargon that Jim understands even less than what was just said. He turns to Spock.

“Is he saying that our people are basically…trapped in some kind of limbo?” he asks, dread curling in his gut.

“That would be my understanding.”

“So then what happens if Scott and Keenser can’t pull this off?”

“Our crew will remain trapped. We may be able to retrieve the mirror crew before subjecting them to a similar fate, but even that is uncertain.”

Jim regrets asking. His heart lurches at the thought of Bones, always so afraid of transporting, being lost forever to the nothingness between universes.

Before he can think about it too long, McCoy and Uhura arrive, escorted by a dozen security officers. Scott orders them onto the transporter pad, but McCoy hesitates, looking at Jim.

“I’m guessing this is it?” he says.

“I certainly hope so.”

McCoy almost smiles at that.

“Well then, see you never, I guess. It’s been…educational.” He makes as if to head for the transporter pad, but then he pauses and meets Jim’s gaze again. “I hope I was wrong,” he says quietly.

“I hope so, too,” Jim manages through a throat that has suddenly gone tight.

A moment later, all three visitors from the other universe are standing on the transporter pad. Scott keeps on barking instructions at Keenser, who doesn’t appear to be listening anymore. The small engineer keys in several commands.

Jim holds his breath as the three figures begin to dematerialize. The beams of light from the transporter don’t fade fully before they start to solidify again, and numb horror fills Jim at the thought that they’ve failed, that it’s too late. Darkness encroaches on the edges of his vision, a dull roaring in his ears drowning out the sound of the transporter.

_How the hell is he supposed to do this without Bones?_

The security officers level their phasers in anticipation of the ire of the returning imposters. But suddenly, Jim knows that their caution is unnecessary. The aching emptiness in his chest where his soulbond should be has vanished, replaced by that miraculous connection to the center of his entire world.

“Lower your weapons!” he calls, his voice almost breaking.

The transporter beams resolve into three people, three beautiful, intact people, and Jim starts to _breathe_ again for the first time since they went missing. Bones catches his eye at once, and Jim is sprinting forward before he can think. But Scotty and Uhura are already rushing towards Bones, grabbing him by the arms as if to hold him up.

“Call a medical team, now!” Uhura calls to the room at large.

“What happened?” Jim demands, leaping onto the transporter pad and scanning Bones for signs of injury. “Where are you hurt?”

“Actually…nowhere, I think.” Bones sounds surprised as he says it, and he touches a hand to his shoulder. “I feel…I feel fine.”

He shakes off Scotty and Uhura as they stare at him.

“The transporter must’ve restored us to the condition we were in when we left,” Scotty muses. “Well, that’s right convenient.”

“You’re telling me,” Bones says, flexing the fingers of his right hand with a relief strong enough for Jim to feel. He looks up, eyes scanning Jim. “Are you all right?”

Jim just grabs him by the arms and _looks_ at him for a moment, his own relief finally settling in, threatening to choke him. He doesn’t let himself pull Bones into his arms, because if he does he’s pretty sure he’s going to break down and/or never let go, and neither would be ideal for the rest of the crew to see.

“I’m fine, Bones,” he manages. It’s even true, now.

He looks at the other two.

“What about you guys?” he asks. “All right?”

Uhura has been rejoined by her own soulmate, and the two of them seem to be engaged in a silent conversation. Spock has allowed himself the liberty of taking her hand, but she bypasses that and presses herself to his chest, letting him fold her into his arms.

“Aye, we’re okay, Captain,” Scotty answers for both of them. He’s got a hand resting on Keenser’s shoulder, but he’s looking at Jim strangely, with a mix of relief and discomfort and what looks almost like guilt. It’s a little unsettling, but the medical team arrives before Jim can try to analyze it.

Bones tries to wave off his staff as they swarm around him with tricorders and questions and the occasional relieved greeting.

“I’m not hurt,” he insists.

“But you were,” Jim surmises.

“And now I’m not.”

“I’d still like you to get checked-”

“I said I’m fine!” Bones snaps, and there’s suddenly a wild edge to his tone and a tinge of desperation in their bond. Even the med staff who are used to his temper take a step back.

Jim studies him, gut twisting at the thought of just what might have happened to Bones to make him so reluctant to return to the medbay that he loves. Jim remembers that mental damage Ambassador Spock warned about. He shoots a questioning look at M’Benga, who shrugs but nods.

“All right,” he says quietly. “All right, Bones, we’ll go back to our quarters.”

He pulls his communicator from his belt.

“Kirk to bridge. We’ve got our people back, safe and sound.” He can’t help smiling faintly as the sound of cheering echoes through the device. “You mind keeping the conn for the rest of the shift, Mr. Sulu?”

_“Not at all, sir. Tell the others, welcome back.”_

Jim thanks his helmsman and flips the communicator shut.

“You heard the man,” he says to Bones, Scotty, and Uhura. “We all missed you guys.”

“Not as much as we missed you, believe me,” Uhura says, and Scotty grimaces in agreement.

There’s something ominous about that, but Jim can only consider so many things at once. There will be time for a full debriefing later, but he can see the exhaustion that’s weighing on them all now that the initial adrenaline of their return is fading.

“All right, get some rest, you two,” he tells Uhura and Scotty. “Spock, I don’t want to see you on duty for this shift or the next either.”

His first officer doesn’t argue. He just places a hand at the small of Uhura’s back, and they all start walking together towards the door to the transporter room. Their quarters are all in the same general area, so Jim is surprised when Scotty peels off to head in the opposite direction once they get out into the hallway.

“I’m going to check on my engines,” he says in answer to Jim’s questioning look. “I’m sure my poor bairns took a beating in that ion storm.”

“I thought I just ordered you to get some rest,” Jim said. “I’m sure someone else will look after-”

“It’ll be restful for me, Captain,” Scotty interrupts, and there’s a small, earnest smile on his face, but Jim gets the sudden feeling that it’s masking something.

“Let him go, Jim,” Bones says, giving Scotty a look that Jim can’t quite interpret.

“All right, but I’m ordering Keenser to keep an eye on you.”

Scotty’s smile widens and he nods, turning to go. But then he pauses and looks back, reaches out to nudge Bones’ shoulder.

“We made it back where we belong,” he says, his tone bracing and warm. “Not bad for a doctor-not-an-engineer.”

Bones’ answering smile is small and tired but no less genuine for it.

“Not so bad yourself, Dr. Scott,” he says.

Jim’s not sure he wants to know what _that_ means.

Scotty gives Uhura one last smile too, and then he’s gone. It’s a silent walk to the officers’ quarters after that. There’s something heavy in the air, and it’s partially the exhaustion that they’re all feeling, but Jim knows it goes deeper than that. He hovers close to Bones, but something stops him from reaching out to touch him.

They reach the door to Spock’s quarters first, and Jim nods at his first officer and smiles at Uhura and goes to move on. But Bones hesitates, eyeing Uhura carefully. They seem to be communicating silently, and whatever comes out of it must be all right, because Jim feels a soft touch of relief from his soulmate.

“Take care of her, Spock,” Bones says, by way of farewell. “And if you ever stop shaving, I’m personally declaring you unfit for duty and having you booted off the ship.”

“Doctor…” Spock’s voice makes them both turn back. The Vulcan is watching Bones with a quiet intensity, and something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I do not know all that transpired in the other universe. But I wish you to know that should my counterpart have inflicted any kind of mental assault on you, I would consider it my utmost responsibility to help you recover from the experience.”

Jim freezes in place. _That_ was what Ambassador Spock was warning them about?

He reaches for Bones on instinct, gripping him by the forearm. He knows how overwhelming, how _painful_ even a benevolent meld can be, but a _forced_ one…But then Bones touches their bond soothingly and shakes his head at Spock.

“There’s nothing to recover from,” he says. “He didn’t have time for it. Ny and Scotty made sure of that.”

But it had clearly been an almost. Something terrible had happened in that other universe, and it’s left shadows in Bones’ eyes that chill Jim to his core.

Spock’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly, a stiffness draining from him.

“I am- relieved to hear it,” he says.

He nods at Jim, and then allows Uhura to tug him into their quarters. The door hisses shut behind them, and Jim looks at Bones, a hundred questions buzzing through him. But Bones just shakes his head and starts walking again, more quickly this time, and Jim follows.

When they reach the Captain’s quarters at last, Bones stops just inside the door. Neither of them seems to know quite what to say. They’ve had close calls before, and calls that were more than close, but there’s never been anything like this.

And there’s a dark, ugly truth burrowing into Jim’s mind. It was there in the looks Uhura and Scotty were giving him. It was there in Bones’ evasiveness about his injuries. And it’s there now, in the way Bones flinches slightly as the door to their quarters slides shut behind them, closing them in together.

“Bones-”

“How bad was it?” Bones interrupts. “Here.”

Jim frowns at him. He’s been so concerned with making sure Bones and Scotty and Uhura are all right that he’d forgotten about the news that he’s going to have to share.

“We can talk about all that later,” he says, because his soulmate looks so worn and fragile already, and he can’t bear to deliver another blow.

But Bones has never been good at letting others try to protect him. He narrows his eyes.

“Jim.”

Jim knows him well enough to see that there’s no stopping him now. He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“It was pretty readily apparent from the moment they came onboard that your counterparts weren’t you,” he says quietly. “We confined them to the brig while we tried to figure out what was happening. We should’ve been more careful, but-” He looks away, and feels an answering flash of dread from Bones.

“They got out,” he surmises.

Jim nods and forces himself to meet Bones’ gaze again. He keeps his tone gentle as he delivers his next words, as if that will soften the pain of them.

“He killed Sophia Cartwright and Zeer Zephaar.”

Bones doesn’t have to ask which ‘he’.

Jim’s heart clenches as something dark lurches across their bond, as Bones grits his teeth and looks away, gaze dropping to the floor. His eyes begin to shine too bright, and he squeezes them shut, throat working.

“It’s not your fault, Bones.”

He knows that Bones hears him, but he doesn’t react. He’s silent, his body tense, and Jim longs to go to him, to hold him. He settles for reaching out tentatively through their bond, offering what comfort and support he can, but Bones ignores it too, not ready to accept it.

“I want to see them.” Bones opens his eyes suddenly. “They’re in stasis, right?”

“Bones-”

“I want to _see them_ , Jim!”

He turns to the door, looking ready to storm right back out of it, back to the medbay that had so unsettled him minutes earlier. But Jim isn’t about to let him torture himself.

“Bones, _stop_.”

He grabs Bones by the arms, steps between him and the door. Bones _freezes_ under the touch, and a wave of panic slams into Jim’s chest, snatching his breath away. It tells him as much as he could ever have wanted to know about what happened to his soulmate in that mirror universe. About _who_ happened to him.

He lets go of Bones like he’s been burned, staggering back several steps. Nausea claws at him and he feels the blood drain from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, folding his arms across his stomach. He takes another step back. “I’m sorry, Bones, I won’t touch you again.”

Bones looks as bad as he feels. He shakes his head, swallowing hard.

“I’ll go,” Jim says, even though the thought of letting Bones out of his sight just then fills him with panic of his own. “I can call Scotty-”

“No! Dammit, Jim, I’m not _afraid_ of you,” Bones says. “I know you’re not him, I just- you startled me.”

Jim still hesitates, so Bones moves deliberately towards him, opens up their bond to share the tumult of emotions roiling through him. There’s guilt and sadness and anger and pain, but there’s not a trace of fear.

“Please,” Bones says, and that’s all it takes.

Jim gathers him into his arms, his soulmate collapsing into his hold and fisting a hand in the back of his shirt. Bones’ other hand slides to the small of Jim’s back, settles over the soulmark there. Something vital slots back into place inside him, and he buries his face against Bones’ neck, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threaten as it sinks in how horrifyingly close he came to losing this forever.

“What happened to you?” he asks in a muffled whisper.

Bones just shakes his head, his grip on Jim tightening.

Jim loses track of how long they stay like that, just holding onto each other desperately. But when he feels Bones begin to slump more heavily against him, notices the soul-deep exhaustion emanating from him, he pulls away gently.

“Rest,” he reminds Bones. “We both need it.”

He tugs Bones into the sleeping area, turns him around to unzip the back of his blue tunic with fingers that just barely shake. He digs through their dresser for Bones’ softest pair of pajamas, but when he tries to hand them over, Bones doesn’t move. He’s just watching Jim with eyes that are dark and pained.

“Don’t take care of me, Jim,” he says. “Please. I don’t-”

He shakes his head and looks away. Jim is startled to feel something that can best be described as _guilt_ seeping through their bond. There’s been far too much of that going around. He frowns, setting the pajamas aside and taking a measured step towards his soulmate, who still doesn’t look at him.

“Bones,” he says gently, in a tone he normally reserves for frightened children. “Talk to me.”

“I…” Bones swallows, staring at the floor. “Our…our doubles, counterparts, whatever you want to call them, they were together in that other world.”

Jim blinks, startled by the unexpected direction this conversation has taken.

“I know,” he says slowly. “Well, I guessed, but it was a pretty educated one.”

“The other Kirk- he didn’t know, Jim. That I wasn’t his McCoy. He didn’t know.”

“Okay,” Jim says, still not understanding where this is going. “I mean, that was probably for the-”

He chokes off as realization dawns, and fresh horror tears through him. He stares at Bones, who turns his face away.

“Bones-” Jim’s voice is rough, strangled. He clenches trembling hands into fists as his stomach roils. “Bones, _tell_ me he didn’t-”

But Bones is already shaking his head.

“No, you don’t understand, Jim, I seduced him! He was going to wipe out the Halkans, and I couldn’t-” He looks back at Jim for an instant, misery clouding his features, before his gaze drops to the carpet again. “I’d already seen too much evil in that place, and I couldn’t bear the thought of more. It was the only way I could think of to convince Kirk to spare them, to make it a favor to me. But favors in that place, well, they kind of have to get returned.”

Heart in his throat, Jim takes another careful step towards Bones, who is starting to ramble now.

“I didn’t sleep with him, but I had to practically shove my tongue- and it was on the _bridge_ , in front of everyone, I hardly ever even kiss _you_ in front of other people but we were talking about _genocide_ and-”

“Hey, hey, Bones.” Telegraphing his movements, Jim takes his soulmate’s face ever so gently in his hands, tilts his chin up so that their eyes meet. He swallows down the lump in his throat. “All that matters to me is that you got back safely, all right? I don’t care about- about whatever you had to do.”

Bones frowns at him unhappily.

“Yes, you do.”

Jim sighs.

“Okay, I do, but only because I can see that it hurt _you_. I hate that there’s any version of me out there who would make you feel the way you’re obviously feeling. And I hate that someone, _anyone_ , had their hands on you without you wanting it. But if you think there’s something for me to forgive here…” Jim shakes his head. He strokes his thumbs over Bones’ cheeks, offering him a small, tender smile. “Well, your old-fashioned southern values are something that I love about you, Bones, but they’re not doing you any favors here. I know you’ll always be faithful to me in the ways that matter.”

Bones sighs, but he doesn’t argue.

“Besides,” Jim adds. “It’s not like _I_ haven’t kissed other people since we got together. Remember that handsy Trykaeran princess?”

Bones wrinkles his nose at the memory.

“You did that to avoid an interplanetary incident,” he says.

“And you did…whatever you did to prevent genocide. One might even call it an act of heroism.”

Bones snorts, and Jim considers it a victory.

“Heroism, my ass,” he mutters, but he’s not trying to avoid Jim’s gaze anymore. After a moment’s consideration, he sighs again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Jim gives him another small, bracing smile. “Can I kiss you now?”

Something in Bones’ eyes finally lightens, and he doesn’t bother answering. Not with words, anyway.

*****

Later, when they’re finally out of their uniforms and settled together in bed, Jim can’t quite stop the dark thoughts and questions from resurfacing. Bones is tucked securely in his arms, head settled on his chest, but he’s still plagued by the memories of Scotty and Uhura’s concern, of that instant of panic when he’d grabbed Bones. He’s plagued by the utter certainty in McCoy’s eyes as he said _he’s not gonna make it_.

“Will you ever tell me what he did to you?” he hears himself ask.

“If I ever think there’s a time you need to hear it.”

So no, then. Jim sighs, but he doesn’t argue. He just holds Bones a little closer, presses his cheek against his dark hair and forces himself to _breathe_.

“It was awful, Jim,” Bones admits softly after several minutes of silence. “Not what happened to us, although that did have its moments. But seeing that world, knowing that somewhere out there is such evil, such ugliness…How am I supposed to know what to _do_ with that? I mean, what is it that separates us from them? What accident landed us in this universe and not one like that?”

Jim sighs and rubs his thumb soothingly back and forth over Bones’ shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t think there even are answers to questions like that. It might just have to be enough to be grateful that we _are_ here, and who we are. But if you’re wondering if you have that kind of darkness in you, Bones, if there’s any set of circumstances that could make you like him, then I can answer that right now. You don’t, and there’s not.”

“You can’t really know that though, can you?”

“Yes, I can.” Jim pulls back just far enough to look Bones in the eye. “The second that other McCoy looked at me, I knew he wasn’t you, could never have _been_ you. Because I know _you_ , Bones, probably better than I know myself. You’re a grumpy bastard with anger issues, you can be a little too harsh when you’re upset or emotional, you act as rashly as I do sometimes, your jokes are just _terrible_ -”

“If you could just go ahead and get to the ‘but’ that had damn well better be coming-”

“ _But_ I’ve touched your soul, Leonard McCoy.” Jim rests his forehead against Bones’, holding his gaze. “And it is _good_ , through and through. _You_ are good, wholly and unquestionably. If you trust me at all, trust me on that.”

Bones just watches him for a moment, and Jim can feel the warm swell of gratitude and relief from him as he finally accepts the words.

“Of course I trust you, idiot,” he says fondly, and he presses a quick kiss to Jim’s lips. “Although you do have to admit, you’re a little biased.”

But he’s teasing now, and most of the shadows have retreated from his eyes. He settles his head on Jim’s chest again and rests his palm on the soulmark there. A fierce surge of protectiveness strikes Jim as he holds his soulmate close.

It feels like a gift when Bones finally relaxes into sleep. That he’s still so comfortable around Jim, so trusting of him after whatever happened in that other universe…well, it gives Jim hope that recovery is closer within reach than he’d feared.

But despite his own exhaustion, sleep continues to elude Jim. He can’t seem to dismiss his own uncertainty as readily as he’d done with Bones’. The questions and doubts that had arisen during this whole crisis refuse to leave him alone even now that it’s over.

He’s seen so much more of the universe in just a few years than most people do in a lifetime. That used to thrill him, make him crave more. But if this is what the universe has to offer, if every day they’re out here is just another chance for him to lose the one thing in it that he can’t live without…well, is it really worth it?

*****

McCoy’s hands are deft and sure as he operates, pulling together torn flesh and repairing shredded blood vessels and salvaging delicate pink lung tissue. He’s in his element, finding calm in what he knows. It’s almost a relief to be operating, even if it is on Kirk, for it gives him a clarity that was so patently stripped from him in that other, backwards universe.

The wound in Kirk’s chest is deep and still bleeding, but it doesn’t present even the slightest challenge. McCoy wouldn’t even be working on it himself, if not for the identity of his patient. But apparently someone else had considerable difficulty with it.

“This surgery looks like it was started by a drunken monkey,” he says, disgusted.

It’s bad enough that there’s apparently some bleeding-heart version of him running around out there somewhere, but to know that he doesn’t even have any degree of _skill_ …well, it’s an affront to McCoy’s pride.

“Your counterpart lacked the use of his dominant arm, as well as approximately thirty percent of his total blood volume,” Spock informs him mildly. The Vulcan was waiting for him in the transporter room when he and the others arrived, and has been assisting him since.

McCoy’s eyebrow goes up, but he doesn’t pause in his work.

“Did he, now?” he asks thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose there’s something of a comfort in that.”

It had been rankling, a bit, that such soft impostors had managed to injure Kirk so grievously. But to know that he at least got them back, and that the other McCoy had kept operating while injured himself, eases the sting a little.

They finish the surgery in silence, and Spock helps McCoy get Kirk moved into a private recovery room. He leaves, but McCoy knows that men loyal to him and Kirk will be stationed at the door soon. Like McCoy, Spock isn’t interested in the kind of power that Kirk thrives on, and he knows how to defend the position he’s got. It’s part of what makes him and Kirk such a lethally effective team.

McCoy grabs a regen and runs it one last time over Kirk’s bare chest, watching as the final layer of torn tissue smooths back into unbroken skin. He normally lets Jim keep the scars he accrues, be they trophies or much-needed reminders of his own fallibility. But this one is a reminder that McCoy doesn’t want, a reminder of a universe that was deeply unsettling, in any number of ways.

He sets the regen aside and glances at the back of his hand. It’s as blank now as it’s always been, but the memory of those words sticks with him. He remembers that other Kirk, softer but perhaps not weaker, not really, remembers the looks on his face as he talked about…about _soulmates_.

It still seems like such a ridiculous concept, something so fanciful only a child would consider it. And yet…He settles his palm on Kirk’s chest, lets the warmth of him seep into his skin. He can feel the beat of Kirk’s heart, strong and vital, a dare to his enemies. He’s held that heart in his hands, patched it up and restarted it more than once. He knows it, as he knows all of Kirk. As no one else has or will.

A hand darts up to snatch his wrist, gripping so tight he can feel his bones grind together. Electric blue eyes lock with his, and they’re cutting, searching.

And then Kirk smiles. It’s a devastating thing, full of sharp edges and fiery promises and genuine, fierce affection. In it, McCoy sees his entire world. He sees the answer to that other Kirk’s question, of why he’s really out here.

And maybe McCoy isn’t ready to believe in soulmates, probably never will be, but he knows one thing: Kirk is his.

He smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me about Uhura's soulmark, so the short story answer can be found [here](http://drmcbones.tumblr.com/post/150243902185/what-does-uhuras-soulmark-say-in-the-soulmate-au).
> 
> I should also point out that the next story in this 'verse, _Assume Crash Positions_ , comes chronologically after this chapter. The next chapter of this fic will be set after _Beyond_.


	5. Not as I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not the longest i've ever gone between updates.

Jim closes his eyes as the turbolift door slides shut. He takes a breath, lets the air rush through his lungs, the steady hum of the ship settle into his core. Bones always complains about the canned air, but to Jim it smells like the first home he has ever truly known. He relishes it.

The turbolift draws to a gentle halt, and he opens his eyes. The door begins to move with a soft hiss, and a rush of anticipation floods through him.

And then there it is. The bridge. _His_ bridge. Not identical to the one he lost, but he wouldn’t want it to be.

The old ship held so many memories for him; memories of Bones, of Pike, of the family he’d found just when he’d stopped looking. Memories of his father saving his life one last time, making sure that he was the last Kirk to have to go down with his ship. Memories of life and death, love and loss, the most thrilling victories and the deepest of tragedies. 

But this new ship is _his_ , not inherited from anyone else, not tainted by the maiden voyage from hell. It’s his to make new memories with, to explore the universe with the family he still has. He died for the old _Enterprise_. He intends to live for this one.

He steps forward, the soft padding of his boots on the deck sounding loud in the silence. That silence will be gone soon, replaced by the whistles and beeps of machinery, the low rumble of the warp drive, the quiet chatter of the crew. It will be replaced by blaring alarms too, he knows. Replaced by shouted orders and hostile comms. It always is.

He’s at the Captain’s chair now. He reaches out to touch the back of it, running his fingers over cool metal and soft vinyl.

_Respect the chair._

He understands now, what Pike was trying to teach him with those words. He has for a while, but every day he comes to appreciate the lesson more.

He just wishes it hadn’t cost so much.

He steps around the chair with a sigh, tucks his hands behind his back as he surveys the rest of his new domain. He studies the viewscreen. It’s taller than the old one, and wraps further around the bridge. There’s not much to view yet, just the structure of space dock and the glimpse of open space beyond. But that will change.

What wonders will he see on that screen? He can’t imagine, and it thrills him. The unknown had become a source of wariness in the last few weeks of his previous command, nothing more than the possibility of loss or the promise of monotony. But losing his ship, a third of his crew, has changed something for him, renewed his perspective. He knows why he’s out here.

He’s still lost in contemplation when something warms inside him. It’s a familiar sensation, and he’s unsurprised when he hears the sound of the turbolift doors opening again.

“Permission to enter the bridge?”

Jim smiles.

“You’ve never felt the need to ask before,” he says, turning to look at Bones.

“And I never plan on asking again, so enjoy it now, Captain.”

Jim’s smile widens, and he strides to the turbolift, holding out a hand to his soulmate.

“Permission granted,” he says. “Indefinitely.”

Bones takes his hand and steps out of the lift. He lets their hands fall but doesn’t let go of Jim’s, just adjusts his grip to twine their fingers together. He looks around the bridge, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not gonna tell me about all the things that could go wrong up here?” Jim asks after a moment.

“Nah.” Bones’ voice is quiet, his expression almost soft. “She’s a beautiful ship, Jim. And she’ll do great things with you at her helm.”

Jim’s throat tightens. Bones’ faith in his means more than he knows how to express. But it sometimes feels like a terrible responsibility.

“It could happen again,” he says, not sure which one of them he’s trying to warn. “Any of it.”

Bones doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “And if it does, you’ll get us through it again. And your crew will get you through it. That’s how this whole gig works.”

“Yeah.” Jim settles his head on Bones’ shoulder, looks at the viewscreen again. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

*****

Leonard is good at his job, and that’s not his vanity talking. There’s a reason he’s the CMO of Starfleet’s flagship, and that reason isn’t that he inherited the position from a dead man or that he’s sleeping with his boss. Leonard is a damn good doctor, and a damn good scientist. Much as he knows this though, it’s always nice to be reminded.

“I’ve been asked to be the keynote speaker at the Telomar Conference,” he tells Jim over a private dinner in their quarters, three months into their first mission on the new _Enterprise_. “They’ve reviewed my work and history, and want me to talk about frontier medicine. I’ll be able to share half a dozen new techniques I’ve developed.”

Jim smiles at once, sharing in the pride and rare excitement that Leonard must be radiating. But his brow furrows a moment later.

“The Telomar Conference? That’s in a few days, right? Pretty short notice.”

Leonard shoots a glare across the table at him, but there’s not much heat in it. He got the invitation a few hours ago, and nothing has been able to touch his mood since.

“Thanks, I did really want to be reminded that I wasn’t their first choice.” He shrugs. “President of the VSA was signed up to do it, but there was an outbreak of Rigelian fever on New Vulcan, and she cancelled so she could be around to help out. Still, second choice out of the whole Federation ain’t something to turn your nose up at.”

“Of course, of course,” Jim says, but his smile has faded completely now, and he’s studying Leonard like he’s a troubling report from Engineering. “It’s really impressive, Bones.”

The words ring hollow though, and now Leonard is frowning too.

“Look, I know you don’t really get all fired up about medical stuff the way I do, but this is kind of a big deal,” he says. “I’m not looking for a parade here, but I could do with a little sincerity.”

“I know it’s a big deal, and I’m really proud of you.”

“Then why does your face look like that?”

“Like what?”

He’s avoiding the question, and Leonard glowers at him. He sighs.

“I _am_ proud of you, Bones,” he insists. “It’s just, the _Enterprise_ is scheduled to be mediating peace talks between the Syrash’i and the Kralluur this week, so we can’t take you.”

“Oh.” Leonard waves him off. “That’s not a problem. They’re sending a ship to pick me up tomorrow.”

Jim’s face doesn’t start looking any less weird. Leonard starts to get annoyed in earnest. It’s not often that he has moments like this, and he could do with a little more support from the man he’s stood by to hell and back.

“Are you seriously going to make me play twenty questions here?” he demands. Jim grimaces.

“I don’t think you should go,” he says in a rush.

Leonard gazes at him for a beat, letting that sink in.

“You don’t think I should go,” he repeats. “I’ve just been asked to be the _keynote speaker_ at one of the most important medical conferences in the entire Federation, and you don’t think I should go.”

Jim winces, but then he folds his arms over his chest and squares his shoulders.

“That conference is right in the middle of a sector that’s been a hub of more and more unrest lately. Telomar is in the same system as two planets that are a few angry conversations away from breaking out into full-blown war with each other. The Federation’s been trying to settle things down, but it hasn’t exactly made us popular. A few of our ships have been attacked already.”

“Well, gee, I wonder what that’d be like, to be on a Federation ship that was under attack. By golly, I just don’t know how I’d survive.”

“Don’t give me that; you know the _Enterprise_ is a hundred times safer than whatever dinky passenger transport they’ll send for you. It’d be one thing if we could escort you, but we can’t, Bones, and it’s too dangerous.”

Leonard stares at Jim for a long moment, anger starting to bubble up in his chest.

“Too dangerous,” he says flatly. “You, James Tiberius Kirk, are telling me not to go to a goddamn _medical conference_ because it’s too dangerous. Tell me, do you ever listen to yourself when you talk? Or do you just not care about being a hypocrite?”

“The risks I take are necessary ones-”

“Did you seriously just say that to my face?” Leonard’s voice is rising in volume, but he’s not shouting yet. He thrusts his hand across the table, shows Jim the faded mark on the back of it. “The shit you’ve put your life on the line for…you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t risk!”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose you?” Jim takes the hand Leonard is still holding over the table, squeezing it with a grip that’s almost painfully tight. “When you were in that mirror universe-”

Leonard’s temper snaps at last.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me it was the same!” he snarls, yanking his hand back. “I was gone, and I know that sucked, but you were fucking _dead_! So don’t you dare tell me that you know what it’s like to feel your soul getting ripped in half, just like that. No do-overs, no nothing, not even a goddamn _goodbye_. Except there was a do-over, because I was too completely wrecked to live without you, and then _you did it again_!”

He’s not exactly sure when he stood up, but he finds himself staring down at Jim, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“You _died_ on me _again_ and I had to bring you back _again_ , and _you don’t fucking know what that’s like_. So don’t you dare sit there and try to talk to me about _loss_ , Jim. Just- don’t you dare.”

He’s not being entirely fair, he knows. Jim’s gone through his own trauma, has his own scars. But Leonard is the one who’s starting to feel more and more like Frankenstein’s monster. Every time Jim dies, a part of Leonard dies with him, and they don’t come back right. Not really. And if Jim knew what that was like, _really_ knew, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Jim’s expression is grave as he stares up at Leonard, pained, but it is without remorse. Jim’s regret is for the hurt he’s caused his soulmate, not the actions that led to those hurts.

“What do you want from me here, Bones?” he asks, standing as well. “Maybe I am a hypocrite, but are you gonna try to tell me that two wrongs make a right? Should you put yourself in unnecessary danger just because I do? I can list a dozen times you’ve taken risks that could’ve ended as badly as some of mine have.”

There’s a beat of tense silence. Leonard stares at Jim, stares into the blue eyes that he loves so much. He’s seen those eyes burning with purpose and conviction, seen them wet with tears, seen them tender with unconditional love. Now, there’s a quiet sadness in them, behind the frustration and the hint of worry. But there’s resignation as well.

This is who they are, Leonard realizes. Jim has made a lot of changes for him, has grown and matured in ways that make Leonard ache with pride. But this is who they are.

“Don’t pretend I’ll ever die before you,” Leonard says, his voice softer now. “We both know you won’t let it happen that way, you selfish bastard. You’ll _never_ have to know what it’s like.”

He sighs, feeling suddenly years older. His anger is gone, replaced by a weariness that goes all the way down to his patchwork soul. “And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jim flinches and tries to reach out to him, but he takes a step back, turning away.

“I’m going to that conference, Jim. Because this work, it’s important, it’s groundbreaking. It’ll save lives. And it’ll save soulmates from going through what I did.”

And then he’s striding out of their quarters. Jim doesn’t follow him.

*****

Leonard spends the night in his office, and walks into the shuttle bay the next morning at the exact second the transport shuttle is scheduled to arrive. It’s already there waiting for him, which comes as something of a surprise. Part of him was afraid that a last-minute call from the bridge would prohibit it from rendezvousing with the _Enterprise_ , but Jim must’ve known that would only end badly, because there it is, right on time.

He keeps expecting something to stop him as he walks across the vast shuttle bay, giving curt nods to the few people who smile or wave at him from their various stations. He makes it to the lowered boarding ramp unimpeded though, and he pauses. That’s when he realizes that maybe just a part of him is hoping to be stopped. Well, not stopped, but for Jim not to let him leave like _this_. With so much raw tension and hurt lingering between them.

There’s no help for it though. He meant what he’d said the night before, and he’s going to this conference with or without Jim’s approval.

So he squares his shoulders and boards the shuttle without another backward glance. And then he stops again.

Lieutenant Zahra, the Deputy Chief of Security, is sitting in the seat closest to the door. Three other armed security officers are buckled in behind her. They all look at Leonard when he enters.

“Are you ready, Doctor?” Zahra asks him.

Leonard opens his mouth to ask them what the hell they think they’re doing there, but he shuts it again with a shake of his head. He knows why they’re on board, and he knows who sent them.

“Ready enough, Lieutenant,” he sighs, sitting in an empty seat and beginning the complicated process of securing his safety belts.

He wonders what his life would’ve been like if _he_ had the ability to order armed guards to follow _Jim_ around.

Probably not all that different, if he’s being honest with himself. That’s part of the damn problem. Jim already does spend a lot of his time with guards, but all of the security officers in the Federation can’t protect someone who won’t let them.

Leonard does his best to put his soulmate out of his mind entirely. This trip is about medicine, about teaching and learning and creating a healthier world. He won’t let his relationship problems get in the way of that.

*****

Jim has always been impressed with the rate at which rumors can spread throughout a starship. He’d be even more impressed if fewer of the rumors were about him. He still tends not to mind too much, but he could do without the atmosphere that hits him the moment he steps onto the bridge at the start of Alpha shift. He doesn’t have to be part telepathic to pick up on the fact that the crew knows something is going on with their captain and CMO.

He can feel it in the loaded silence that replaces the usual relaxed mood on the bridge. There’s none of the normal joking around; no one pokes fun at Kirk for whatever dumb stunt he’s pulled most recently, no one is engaged in heated discussion about who is likely to emerge victorious in the upcoming dodgeball tournament. Instead, Jim can feel the weight of curious stares that are averted the moment he returns them.

Uhura is the only one he actually does catch staring. Hers isn’t so much of a stare, though. It’s more of a concerned assessment. When Jim meets her gaze, she gives him a sympathetic smile. He returns it tightly, and looks away.

“The Telomar shuttle is away, sir,” Sulu announces into the silence.

The atmosphere sharpens as everyone starts to pay closer attention while trying to pretend that they aren’t paying any attention at all. Jim bites back a sigh.

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu,” he says. “Keep track of it as long as you can.”

“Aye, sir.”

And that’s the end of it. Bones is gone. He’s got the best security Jim can give him, but he’s still gone, and the last memory Jim will have of him for the next week is of his hurt and anger, of him storming away.

Jim can’t quite hold back his sigh this time, but no one comments on it.

It’s just that it feels like such an old refrain. These arguments about safety, about risk, they’re as old as their relationship. Older, really. He doesn’t know how much longer they can manage to hold this pattern.

Not when part of Bones still won’t quite let him in.

The trip doesn’t do much to take his mind off things. He’s already done as much prep as he can for the upcoming peace talks. The Federation doesn’t know all that much about the Syrash’i and Kralluur. Neither of them are Federation members, and both have historically been reclusive. In truth, Starfleet was surprised to even get the request for mediation. Surprised, but willing to aid in the peace efforts.

It takes the better part of the day to get to the airspace over Syras. By the time they arrive, it’s nighttime for the planet’s capital, so the _Enterprise_ settles into orbit to wait for a more reasonable hour. Night on the ship comes as well, and Jim doesn’t sleep any better in his empty bed this time than he did the night before. Worse, actually, now that Bones is no longer safe on the _Enterprise_.

After two hours of lying awake on his usual side of the bed, he gives in and rolls over, clutching Bones’ pillow to his chest. He still can’t sleep, but at least he’s got something to hold onto.

Inevitably though, morning comes, and Jim rises to do the job that is so precious to him. He just hopes the alien diplomats are unfamiliar enough with humans to think nothing of the shadows under his eyes.

Talks will be held on board the _Enterprise_ , so Jim and a few of his officers line up in the transporter room, clad in their dress uniforms to meet the Syrash’i delegation. Once they’ve picked up and greeted the three members of the living android race, they move on to Krallon, where they pick up an additional three. The Kralluur are a clone race, which becomes quite obvious at a single glance.

Jim is pleasantly surprised by the attitudes of the two delegations, once they all sit down and start talking. He’s seen his fair share of diplomacy, and in his experience, there’s a lot of initial hostility on both sides. In this case though, both delegations seem earnestly committed to peace, and they’ve been working on a formal treaty for months. Since that’s usually the hard part, Jim is a bit lost on what they needed the Federation for.

The problem becomes apparent before long though.

“It seems,” Jim says, leaning across the conference table, hands folded before him, “that what we have here is a failure to communicate.”

Bones would’ve kicked him for that one. Uhura looks as if she’d like to do it in his place, but she’s sitting too far away from Jim to make it work. But since the old reference is entirely lost on both alien parties, Jim doesn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse for its use.

“That is correct, Captain,” the Syrash’i delegate says, solemn.

“Let me make sure I have this right,” Jim says. “Your people-“ he nods to the Kralluur “-defer to the authority of your leader, who communicates with you telepathically.” The delegates nod. Jim looks at the Syrash’i delegates. “And your people are physiologically and psychologically incapable of engaging in that form of telepathy.”

Another nod, from another set of delegates.

“So what you’re really looking for from the Federation is a translator?”

“Indeed, Captain,” says the chief ambassador of the Kralluur. “We have been conducting promising negotiations, but the final stages require deeper communication for it to be meaningful, direct from our leader. Without this, the Kralluur would be unable to consider the peace legitimate, and it would soon fail."

Jim sits back, studying both parties.

“Well, I appreciate that you’ve already done most of the hard work for us,” he says with a congenial smile. “Having reviewed the proposed terms of your agreement, I can say that the Federation will have no trouble standing behind it. As far as this mediation, what is it exactly that you require?”

It turns out that what the Kralluur need is a compatible mind with which to engage; a witness of sorts to the final peace agreement. Spock volunteers to be that mind, but after a brief assessment, the Kralluur deem him to be unfit. Something about his own latent telepathy conflicting with theirs. Jim tries not to be too amused at how put out Spock seems to be by this in that stiff, quiet way of his.

This, of course, leaves Jim as the guinea pig. Well, it doesn’t have to, he supposes, but it’s not as if he’s about to let any of the rest of his crew put themselves on the line for this, not when they’re mostly in uncharted territory.

He’s assured that the process will be harmless and fairly simple. Each Kralluur has the ability to form a deep psychic connection with their leader, and like Vulcans, they’re touch telepaths. They instruct Jim to lie down on the conference table with his hair swept back from his face, while the Kralluur ambassador stands at the head of the table and the rest of the members of both delegations stand around it. Not exactly how Jim imagined this day progressing, but he’s game.

As it turns out, Kralluur have retractible nerve bundles in their arm appendages, which secrete some kind of pheromone that facilitates the neural connection. The ambassador touches the ends of these ganglia to the same psi points that Spock uses for mind melds and instructs Jim to take a deep breath.

He takes a moment as he’s lying there to think about what Bones would say if he knew that Jim is about to let an unfamiliar and largely unknown alien rub mysterious chemicals all over his skin. He abandons that train of thought as soon as it arrives, knowing it leads nowhere good.

Of course, Spock has objections of his own, but Jim has always been able to ignore those. It’s not as if he has much of a choice, anyway. He won’t be the one responsible for the failure of these talks. He dismisses the other _Enterprise_ officers from the crowded room though, not wanting to set too bad an example for them. Some of them are on track to become captains themselves, after all.

“Are you ready, Captain?” the ambassador asks.

Jim manages to stop himself from nodding on instinct and breaking the connection, and instead just takes another deep breath and says a simple, “yes.”

Jim would be hard pressed to describe what comes next. It has some similar features of a mind meld, he supposes, but at the same time feels utterly different. Rather than inviting another individual into his mind, he feels as if he’s being pulled from his own self and into a self that belongs to millions. The physical world ceases to mean anything, and he lets it go, following the inexorable pull towards the only distinct consciousness in the miasma.

The leader of the Kralluur is like no one else he’s ever encountered. Jim finds himself glad for the psychic connection, for without it, he would have no idea what to do. As it is, he manages to do what he came for, to bear witness to the commitment to the peace agreement on behalf of the Kralluur.

With that done, he feels himself disengage from the group consciousness, feels himself return slowly to the world.

When he does, he opens his eyes to find the conference room looking far different than it did when the ritual began. There are half a dozen security officers and two doctors in it, for one. For another, Spock’s face is about two inches from Jim’s.

He wishes a few less people were there to witness the startled squeak that escapes him, but such is his burden in life. There’s little to do but pretend like it didn’t happen, and move onto more pressing matters. He sits up and clears his throat.

“What's wrong?” he asks, looking around at the aliens in the room. All members of both delegations seem to be accounted for, but most of the Kralluur look a bit miffed, and not at the Syrash’i.

“Are you feeling all right, Captain?” Spock asks. Even as he’s speaking, one of the doctors, Laney Greene, is running a tricorder over Jim’s body.

“I’m fine, and quite honestly, I’m more interested in what happened when I was...otherwise occupied.”

Spock doesn’t say anything for a moment. He looks instead to Dr. Greene, who nods.

“Everything seems to be fine, Commander,” she says. Her expression is grave though, worried, even. Jim touches a hand to his face, wondering just what those chemicals might have done to him.

“We assured you that your captain would be safe,” the Kralluur ambassador’s aide says to Spock. "Our only intention was to make peace.”

Spock looks even more stiff than usual when he nods in acknowledgment. If Jim didn’t know any better, he’d think his friend looks almost… _angry_. Jim is officially done with being talked about rather than to.

“If I have to ask again what happened-“

“The ambassador did not adequately explain the nature of the ritual that you underwent,” Spock tells him, voice clipped. “Had they done so, no member of the crew with a soulmate would have been allowed to participate.”

“What, why?”

Spock sighs faintly.

“Because the trance state into which they brought you can only loosely be described as such. As far as I could tell, they had you stabilized and in no apparent danger. However, the technique involved in allowing you to transcend the physical plane involved first ceasing all of your neurological activity, in its entirety.” There’s a brief pause. “In a crude sense of the word…they killed you, Captain.”

Jim stares at his first officer for a moment, the implications of that sinking in. He grabs Spock by the arm.

“I need-”

“I have already asked Lieutenant Uhura to contact Dr. McCoy,” Spock interrupts. “She will assure him that the situation is being addressed.”

But Jim can see in his eyes that Spock knows as well as he does that the damage has already been done. Jim swallows hard and casts a glance over his shoulder at the door to the conference room.

“Could you handle things for me here?” he asks. “Just for a few minutes.”

“Of course.”

Jim realizes that he’s still holding onto Spock’s arm. He releases his first officer, gives him a nod of thanks, and turns to head for the nearest turbolift. As he does, he turns his focus inward and reaches for his connection with his soulmate. Bones has been closed to him since their argument though, and it is no different now.

_I’m sorry_ , he thinks, with everything he has. _I’m so sorry, Bones; I’m okay_. But as strong as their bond is, they’ve never been telepathic, and he knows Bones won’t hear him.

He breaks into a run, not caring about all of the leadership advice that says not to let the crew see you run unless there’s an absolute emergency or you’re working on your cardio. He’s at a turbolift in moments, and on the bridge moments later.

He looks to Uhura’s station as he enters, only to find it empty.

“She’s in your ready room, sir,” Ensign Lars says before he can even ask.

Jim nods and pivots, heading for his ready room. Sure enough, Uhura is waiting for him there, her hands tucked behind her back and her expression sober.

“Did you reach him?” Jim asks her. She nods.

“He collapsed at one of the sessions, but I was able to get through to the medical center-”

“He collapsed?”

“Psycholytic shock,” Uhura explains. “Like…well, like the first time.”

A shudder rips through Jim. He doesn’t have to ask her what she’s talking about.

“He woke up just before you did, though,” Uhura goes on. “I was able to get through to him at the medical center, and I explained things.”

“You talked to him?”

She nods.

“He’s as all right as you’d expect,” she says. Translation: Bones is really fucking not all right.

“Get him back for me,” Jim tells her, heading for his desk. “I’ll-”

“Jim…”

He freezes. They’re good friends, but they never use each other’s first names. Not on duty, and not unless it’s damn serious. He looks back at her.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

*****

If Jim had thought the atmosphere was rough after his argument with Bones, it’s nothing like what happens after the incident with the Kralluur. Never before has the recycled air of a starship felt so suffocating.

The crew are a little better about keeping their eyes to themselves, but the atmosphere has gotten that much more somber. Grumpy as Bones is, he’s still universally loved by the crew. Back when he and Jim were just having a domestic spat, the rumors probably felt harmless. Now, though, things are serious, and they know it. The kids don’t like it when the parents fight, not when it’s for keeps.

For what it’s worth, Jim’s efforts did manage to ratify the peace agreement, and both delegations are satisfied. They’re content to be dropped off on their respective planets after a few last formalities, which is a good thing, because Jim’s not sure he could’ve been all that civil to his guests had they remained much longer.

He knows there’s no logical grounds for blaming the Kralluur for something done out of ignorance in an earnest search for peace. And if Jim had been the one hurt by what they did, he would forgive in a heartbeat. But it’s Bones who’s been dragged through hell.

Again.

And it was bad, this time. Uhura won’t tell him much, but her demeanor is revealing enough.

Jim has Sulu set the _Enterprise_ on a course for Telomar the moment the glow from the last delegate has vanished from the transporter. But he can’t escape the crushing knowledge that he’s on a mission of damage control.

He’s tried reaching out to Bones through their link, but his soulmate remains closed off and distant. They’ve been here before, and the memory is enough to have Jim sick with something deeper than worry.

“He’ll come around,” Uhura says to him in the turbolift on the way back to the bridge.

Jim looks at her.

“Will he?”

Her expression flickers just a little. She’s known Bones as long as Jim has. She knows the answer to that question isn’t guaranteed. Not this time.

Jim has her contact the medical center on Telomar once an hour for the eight hours it takes to get to the rendezvous point at warp seven. Every time, she looks at him and shakes her head, her dark eyes filled with sympathy and regret. Jim always does his best to wave off both.

As he sits there on the bridge he’d first surveyed with Bones, he can’t help but think back to the dark time after the Khan fiasco. Those long weeks in the hospital held some of the greatest challenges Jim has ever faced, both as a person and as one half of a pair of soulmates. There were times, in those weeks, when he’d feared that he was going to lose Bones. To something kinder than death, yes, but something immeasurably painful nonetheless.

Bones came back to him, then. Ever since though, Jim has done little to prove to him that it was the right decision.

Well, he’d been wondering how long they could hold this pattern. It looks like he might be about to find out.

*****

Leonard runs his fingers absently over his forearm as the shuttle hums through space. The blue fabric of his uniform covers up the new soulmark that resides there, but he’s had the words memorized since the moment he looked at them. He has no sweet clue what Jim’s got printed on his body right now though, because he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to his soulmate when he sees him.

He’s going to have to figure it out before too long though, because the shuttle is taking him to the _Enterprise_.

Leonard finds his gaze drawn to the viewscreen at the front of the small vessel. Normally, he’d hate looking out at the impossible, uncaring vastness displayed there, and he can’t say he’s thrilled by the view this time either. But it gives him a connection to Jim, the only connection he feels ready for just now. He can feel Jim, steady and strong at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for him to reach out, to restore their usual link. But he can’t.

He knows he’s torturing Jim with his silence, but he isn’t keeping to himself out of pettiness. This is too big for that.

He sighs, wrapping his fingers around his right arm. The position of this new mark is almost an exact mirror of the one that Leonard has carried since the tender age of six. It’s shorter, just two words, and the familiar handwriting is a little bit neater. And, of course, the words are still black.

He wonders how long they’ll stay that way. He wonders - really, honestly wonders - if he can stand to find out.

That’s the question that has kept him so withdrawn ever since he woke after being ripped apart from the inside out again. That, and the aftershocks of the agony that had nearly destroyed him again.

He’d thought he’d made this decision already, when they went through all this the first time. He’d chosen to stay, to take the bad with the good. And then he’d thought he was getting better. When Jim had been struck by lightning on that aid mission, he’d kept going. He’d dealt with it, avoided the weeks of pain that had come with Jim’s death in the warp core.

He’d thought maybe, _maybe_ they were in a good place at last, a sustainable place. But three times is a pattern.

Leonard turns away from the viewscreen and closes his eyes, shutting out the daunting view. He leans his head back with a sigh.

He’s so damn tired. Not just physically. He’s got another fault line running through his soul. Another scar that Jim will never understand. He can’t keep pretending they don’t exist, can’t keep shoving them aside.

A communicator chirps, and Leonard’s hard goes automatically to his belt. It’s not his though, but Zahra’s. He looks away as she answers it, still touching his own communicator. It’s been chirping at him every hour since he woke up in that hospital on Telomar.

He knows the routine has been requested by Jim, but he still takes all of Nyota’s messages. Even when they’re just in the form of text, his friend’s concern is evident. As well as she means though, even she can’t understand what it is that Leonard is going through. But he’s still grateful for someone to talk to, to ground him, to help him think more clearly.

And that’s what he needs to do now, more than anything. So he returns his hand to his new soulmark, closes his eyes again, and thinks.

*****

There are only a few people in the shuttle bay when Leonard and the security officers disembark. Leonard’s eyes are drawn at once to the figure in command gold that waits a little ways off from the end of the shuttle’s ramp. He meets Jim’s electric gaze, but he can’t parse what he sees there.

Jim is stock still, uncharacteristically so. He doesn’t move, waits instead for Leonard to come to him. Which Leonard does. He nods to the security officers and marches straight towards Jim, stopping a foot away from him.

They just look at each other. Leonard has never seen Jim look quite like this, terrified and excited and hopeful and resigned all at the same time.

Leonard senses rather than sees the shuttle bay emptying around them. And still neither of them says anything for almost a full minute. Jim is the one to break the silence.

“Marry me?” he says.

Leonard just stares for another long moment, thinking, remembering.

“If found, please return to Leonard McCoy,” he says at last. His voice wavers just a little, but he thinks he can be forgiven for that.

Jim stares at him blankly for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out what Leonard has just said. And then he practically collapses forward, flinging his arms around Leonard and clinging like it’s his job.

“Oh thank God.”

“You’re surprised,” Leonard realizes, startled himself even as his arms wrap around Jim just as tightly. “How can you be surprised? You must’ve known what I was going to say.”

Jim doesn’t say anything, just pulls back far enough to kiss Leonard, who’s forgotten his question by the time it’s over.

“I was afraid to look,” Jim admits, with a smile wider than the words warrant. The relief radiating from him is so powerful Leonard thinks he would feel it even without their connection. “I knew what _I_ was going to say, and I wasn’t sure I was going to like your answer.”

Leonard sighs, leaning in until his forehead is resting against Jim’s.

“I wasn’t sure either,” he says softly. “Not when I first saw the words. Right then, after the fight and then losing you _again_ and going through all of that and realizing that part of me was starting to get _used_ to it…I really wasn’t sure I could face a lifetime of that.”

“I’ll quit.” Jim says the words immediately, without a trace of hesitation or uncertainty. Leonard is too surprised to say anything, and he keeps on ploughing forward. “I mean it, Bones; I’ll quit Starfleet. It’s not fair of me to keep putting you through this. You never even wanted a job in space; you wanted to be in a hospital somewhere, and you could’ve been the head of Starfleet Medical by now. You’re here because of me, and I’m putting you through hell. But you’re so much more important to me than Starfleet or my ship, Bones, and if you’re done, I’m done.”

“Woah, hey, Jim, stop,” Leonard says, gripping Jim by the shoulders and pulling back a bit to get a better look at him. “I already agreed to marry you; you don’t have to try to convince me-”

“I’m not trying to convince you. I’m saying that I want to do this for you. You’ve given up so much for me and I-”

“What if it’s not what I want?” Leonard interrupts, squeezing Jim’s shoulders in an attempt to stop the flow of words.

“What?”

Leonard looks at his soulmate - his fiancée - for a moment, studies his wide blue eyes, his earnest expression. He sighs.

“You’re right, Jim,” he says. “I did want a nice, safe job planetside. But then the damnedest thing happened. I met you. I met you, and your passion for the stars was so goddamn contagious that I found myself wanting to explore them too. I met you, and you made me realize that…well, that the kind of safety you get from being alone isn’t the kind worth having.”

Jim looks like he’s about to do something stupid like speak, but Leonard doesn’t give him the chance.

“I know we didn’t have the easiest go of it in the beginning,” he says. “But even before we finally got our heads out of our asses and admitted that we belong together, I knew I was never gonna be anywhere you weren’t. And at the beginning, that scared me. Still does, sometimes. But…” He shrugs. “I think, in the end…the universe knew what it was doing, when it put us together.”

He’s the one to initiate the kiss this time, and when they break apart, Leonard uses his thumb to wipe away the tear that’s gathering at the corner of Jim’s eye.

“I meant it,” Jim says quietly.

Leonard gives him a soft smile.

“I know,” he says. “And that- that matters. But I mean it too.”

Jim studies him for a long moment, and Leonard reaches inward, fully reopens the bond that connects them. There’s still plenty of anger there, yes, and he doesn’t hide that. They still have plenty to work through, and it will take a while.

But it pales in comparison to the warmth, the certainty, the love. Jim’s eyes go soft, and he takes Leonard’s face in his hands. His touch gentle, reverent.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. God help me.”

Jim grins. He pushes up his sleeve, and he and Leonard both look at the soulmark that now wraps around his wrist like a bracelet. He runs his fingers over the words, over Leonard’s claim.

“No take-backs now,” he says delightedly.

Leonard can already feel the headache coming on. He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [pdameron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pdameron/pseuds/pdameron) and [darlinjim](http://darlinjim.tumblr.com/) for betaing this. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait. Only one more to go...
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://drmcbones.tumblr.com/) :)


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